VENERATION (A Wedding-Based Story)
by SayItRight
Summary: Following Lois and Clark's eight-month-long engagement, the weekend of their wedding arrives. But even amidst romance and revelry, latent tensions give rise to conflict between the couple, their families, and their closest friends. [AU; Set post-"Pandora"]
1. Prologue

**Title:** VENERATION [A Wedding-Based Story]

**Status:** Ongoing

**Author:** SayItRight

**Pairings:** _Smallville_'s Lois Lane and Clark Kent, as well as a number of series (e.g., Kara Zor-El/Jimmy Olsen), shipper (e.g., Dinah Lance/Oliver Queen), DC Comics (e.g., Diana Prince/Bruce Wayne, Dinah Drake/Larry Lance), and slash pairings (Bart Allen/Stuart Campbell).

**Summary:** Following Lois and Clark's eight-month-long engagement, the weekend of their wedding arrives. But even amidst romance and revelry, latent tensions give rise to conflict between the couple, their families, and their closest friends. [AU; Set post-"Pandora"] [Romance/Drama]

**Rating:** PG-13ish - For sexuality, some profanity, and occasional violence.

**Fair Warning:** If you are in any way disconcerted by or disapproving of the queerer aspects of the world in which we all live, then this ain't the tale for you, darlin'. Mmkay?

**Disclaimer:** With the sole exception of this original story, I own nothing. I claim nothing. I am not profiting. I intend no infringement.

**Notes:** (1) The continuity for this story, which takes place a few years into Lois and Clark's coupledom, departs from the _Smallville_ universe as of "Pandora"; that is to say, absolutely nothing from "Disciple" onward happened as far as this story is concerned. The only events that bear on this story are those depicted on _Smallville_ itself up until the end of "Pandora," and those depicted in my four previous stories - "Revelation," "Illumination," "Consummation," and "Affirmation." That said, this story demands no extensive knowledge of either the show or my other fics. (2) Although this story respects the _Smallville_ universe up until "Pandora," I have not treated the canon as gospel. Certain aspects of characters' personal histories and dynamics have been tweaked.

**Contents:** Three parts ("Friends," "Lovers," "Family"), each containing multiple chapters.

**Lastly:** Please, let me know what you think. Any and all feedback is much, much appreciated.

**[Progress Update:** (March 3, 2013) *Sigh* Well, PART TWO, CHAPTER NINETEEN is officially kicking my ass, which means I won't be able to update today. I'm hugely sorry for the further delay. I'll check back in later in the week. Hopefully, I'll have better news by then. To all those bearing with me, thank you so much for your patience. Cross my heart, I'm getting right to writing as soon as I'm done posting this message. Cheers!**]**

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

He found the two of them alone in a viewing gallery, staring down through a glass window and into the operating room below in silence. Startled, they turned to him as he threw open the door and charged directly at them.

His fist connected squarely with Clark's jaw. Chloe, aghast as much by the eruption of violence as by the sight of Clark staggering back a step, cried out.

"Shut up!" he shouted over her, too beset by rage to concern himself with whether he'd inflicted any actual pain on the man opposite him; it was enough for him that he'd made his sentiments perfectly well known. "She trusts you! She'd do anything for you!" he raged on at Chloe. "And this is how you repay her faith, her loyalty? Damn it, we told you, both of you, that something like this would happen eventually! We told you that as long as she doesn't know, she's at risk!"

Chloe, glancing through the open entrance for passersby, whispered to him that while she understood how upset he was, the public venue in which they were situated was ill-suited for such frank speech.

"Oh, _now_ you see reason?" he demanded, breathing malice with every word. "Where was that level head this past year? Where was that good sense when you were helping Clark here play the closest thing you have to a sister for a fool, when you were helping him lead her down the same road that ended with you losing your husband?"

Clark, devastated by the events of the last few hours, stepped in front of Chloe and insisted that the only person at fault was himself.

"Bullshit," he countered, invading the space directly before Clark. "You say that because you think you're sparing her the guilt you finally feel, but even you're not self-deluded enough to believe it. What you've yet to realize, though, is this: She doesn't care. She's known all along that she is as much to blame as you are - and she does not care. Because she would rather be complicit in your lies than do right by the woman none of us deserve to love. That's the kind of person you call your closest ally, your best friend. And that, hero, is the only kind of greatness you've ever inspired in her."

Neither Clark nor Chloe spoke a word to him in response.

Disgusted with them both, he turned away and slowly approached the window at which they'd initially been standing. His already swollen eyes brimmed over with yet more tears upon him seeing the patient lying unconscious on the operating table, a team of surgeons working furiously to repair the damage to her abdominal cavity.

It was too much for him. He couldn't bear another moment.

Before he quit the room, though, he turned back to find Clark's gaze. "If she dies," he said to him, his voice breaking, "I'm telling her family everything - if only to give them the chance to kill you before I do."


	2. Part One (Friends), Chapter One

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Perry White's voice boomed throughout the hall where nearly all the members of the wedding's inner circle were assembled. "Is she out of her goddamn mind?! This is just - It's egregious! That's what it is! It's downright egregious! And, I swear by Caesar's ghost, if she ever deigns to grace us with her presence…"

Martha Kent, who'd hoped the short-tempered man's patience wouldn't wear so thin so soon, excused herself from the company of the ceremony's officiant and hurried up the aisle toward the back of the hall, where Perry had been pacing about and seething for the last half-hour. By the time she reached him, though, both the rate of his profanities and the volume of his indignation had peaked.

"- Perry!" she scolded from just behind him. "There could be guests, to say nothing of their children, passing by just outside any of these doors."

The sound of Martha's reproach stopped him cold, and he spun around to face her. Beyond where she stood, he could see every pair of eyes in the space fixed on him - not that he cared. With a hand-wave and a wisecrack, he exhorted the wedding party, its attendants, and the various ceremony staffers and hotel employees to return to whatever had been occupying them. When all had done just that, he turned his attention to the one person whom he was indeed sorry to have offended.

"My apologies," he said to Martha, before getting right back to making his point. "But not only was she barely here long enough to meet-and-greet even a handful of her five hundred-odd invitees, she then entirely skipped out on the reception rehearsal and is now late to go through the ceremony, which - not that she's aware, apparently - is the whole point of this outsized, godforsaken affair! What kind of bride does this? And why am I the one left holding the bag? I don't know what the hell I'm doing -"

"- Perry, your language. Really."

"Well, _excuse_ me," he rejoined with more severity than he intended. Promptly regretting his tone, he took a breath and attempted to rein himself in. When he finally felt calm enough to speak again, he softened the manner of his expression as he reiterated his contrition. "Truly, Red, excuse me."

With a slight chuckle, she unfolded her arms and stepped toward the humbled man. He'd grown increasingly irritable since the day before, when, as a member of the wedding party, he'd been asked to spend time with guests as they'd arrived at and settled into the hotel throughout the afternoon and evening. By the end of the first hour, though, he'd begun to squirm, as he'd found it difficult to remain sociable amongst inquisitive strangers in whose contentment he felt no personal investment. Moreover, that his primary reason for attending, let alone participating in, the early-July nuptials had disappeared soon after its first event began left him without much motivation to continue making polite conversation. Still, though he'd never admit as much aloud, he loathed even the thought of disappointing a person whom he esteemed above nearly all others, and thus, even in her absence, he felt obliged to remain on his best behavior.

Martha, of course, understood the basis of Perry's annoyance, and as she found his bluster, especially where his star reporter was concerned, comical, she didn't begrudge him his outburst. Accordingly, she made a point of reassuring him about the success of his civilities thus far. "You've done perfectly well," she told him. "I hear that even the folks who know you from work are impressed."

"Save the pep talk, Red," he retorted, largely in response to the smirk betraying her amusement. "I'm no good at this. Glad-handing, people-pleasing, sugarcoating - that's a politician's bailiwick, not mine."

His dig at her profession only widened her smile, and she returned, "My, you are cranky in the mornings, Mr. White."

Perry scoffed at her lack of sympathy, but didn't resist as she took his arm and began escorting him toward the staircase that led up onto the hall's indoor terrace.

"Come, come. Let's get you another cup of coffee," Martha said to him, her voice light and more than somewhat teasing.

As they made their way toward the row of double doors lining the back of the terrace, they passed by Clark Kent, one of his four groomsmen, and a sports columnist with whom Clark worked. Martha smirked at her son, who nodded his thanks to his mother for corralling the only person present who was bothered by the rehearsal's late start. Just then, though, the young man who Perry recognized as having been tasked with attending the bride throughout the weekend's festivities entered through one of the pairs of doors.

"Whoa!" called out Perry, loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby. "Hold on!"

Page Nguyễn stopped in his tracks.

"Well, where is she?" demanded Perry, who'd understood that Page, along with a chauffeur, had left the hotel earlier that morning to go collect the bride from her and the groom's high-rise home.

Clark nearly laughed as he watched Page's face fall into the same perplexed expression that he imagined his own assumed whenever he was asked the same impossible question.

Before entering the hall, Page, a capable, clean-cut young aide, had spent the last little while up in the bridal party's penthouse suite, assisting the suite's butler with unpacking and arranging the bride's effects. He'd accordingly assumed that the bride herself would make it to the rehearsal long before he did. But upon peering over the terrace's balustrade and scanning the persons below it, he failed to locate his charge. Flummoxed, the attendant immediately began offering an explanation to the small group before him. "She was worried that she'd have to stop and talk to guests if she came in through the front, so she had us drop her off behind the building by the loading docks. But -" - checking his wristwatch - "- that was… twenty minutes ago."

Perry, piqued all over again, untwined his arm from Martha's. "That just figures," he angrily muttered, while yanking his mobile out of his pocket and pulling up his frequent contacts list. "We're all stuck here waiting for her while, chances are, she's off hunting down either a headline or a Ho Ho. Probably both."

"I-I do apologize," stammered Page, speaking to everyone at once. "I take full responsibility. I shouldn't have lost track of her."

Bartholomew Allen, who'd been chatting with Clark and his colleague for the last several minutes, snickered, "Ah, don't worry about it. Happens to Stretch all the time."

Clark feigned offense at his friend's gibe and elbowed him in the arm. Bart retaliated with a good-humored shove, only to end up in a headlock.

As Clark effortlessly constrained the wriggling smaller man, he told Page, "Really, it's fine. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

"Maybe I should still go look for her, though. Ms. Cohen would most likely prefer I did."

"You can tell her I asked you to hang out here. Trust me, the bride-to-be does not take kindly to search parties."

All of a sudden, Perry, who'd just gotten his protégée's voicemail for the second time, drew everyone's attention as he shouted, "You know, the least she could do is answer _one_ of her damn phones!"

Martha, heading off a devolving situation, took Perry's arm once more and reiterated her insistence that they get some more caffeine into his system. Grudgingly, he allowed himself to be led toward one of the exits, while Martha instructed her son to call her if the bride arrived before they returned.

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Clark, finally letting go of Bart as Ace Cohen came from below.

"Excuse me, Mr. Allen," said Ace, a tidy, all-business assistant in her early thirties. "I'm told you haven't yet settled on an order for the rehearsal luncheon. Perhaps you'd like another look at the menu."

Bart, who'd been dodging the members of Ace's staff since the day before, brushed her off, punched Clark in the arm, and dashed back down the terrace stairs. Clark apologized for his groomsman's indecision and suggested to Ace that she try Bart again a little later. With a forced smile and a nod, Ace left with Page, who, as one of the wedding party's handful of attendants, was under her supervision, and headed off to report in with her employer. Shortly thereafter, the sports columnist, who'd been passing along to the groom an update about their underdog team's game-seven showdown that evening, departed his company to go rejoin her family across the street from the hotel.

Left alone, Clark went to the balustrade to survey the activity below. Everywhere he looked, the several dozen people present were enjoying conversations with one another, making requests of the piano quintet and its additional member for the weekend, or busying themselves with preparations for the following day's ceremony. Pleased by the sight and feeling that only his fiancée's presence could make it entirely ideal, he breathed a sigh of satisfaction and headed back to the hall's three-tiered main floor.

As he descended the short flight leading down from the terrace, he noticed at the opposite end of the hall Ace and Page finishing their brief discussion with a diminutive young woman, who promptly returned her attention to the tablet computer in her hands. Even without seeing the screen, Clark knew what book was absorbing her yet again, and he chuckled to himself as he wondered how many more times she could read it.

His musings gave way to another focus, however, when his eyes settled upon the only person in the hall who was entirely removed from its goings-on. As he might've expected, she was still seated by herself in one of the five hundred or so chairs arranged within the space, casually observing everyone else from her vantage in a back row of the back tier.

Instinctively, he gravitated toward her, and she turned to him as he approached her side.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked, unsurprised by her having sensed his nearness.

Peering up at him, she articulated in her characteristically low, honeyed tone, "Are you not yet weary of my company, after having endured it to such an extent of late?"

"I could never tire of you," he gently avowed, paying her the compliment of a formal greeting by taking her hand and lightly pressing his lips to it. She smiled, and, upon seeing her pleased by both his sentiment and his gesture, he happily seated himself next to her. "Sorry about the holdup," he offered, once he'd settled in. "I have no idea where she is."

"Only as you have not endeavored to find her."

With a reminiscent smile, he explained, "Yeah, well, she gets pretty angry if I track her down for no reason other than that she's running late. 'On pain of a kicked ass, stalking only flies in case of emergencies.' Her words, not mine."

"That much was plain," the woman next to him dryly remarked. "In any case, I do not mind the wait. I am, after all, at your disposal for the next month."

"Can I get that in writing? Because history tells me there are limits to how long and how much you'll indulge even me."

Finding his eyes and regarding him pointedly, she smirked, "In any case, I imagine you will be spending our holiday far less interested in my indulgence than in that of your bride."

Her teasing intimation suffused his cheeks with a subtle blush. But, diverting their conversation from a subject that would only embarrass him further, he asked her whether she was disposed to extend her present willingness to oblige to his fiancée as well.

With a slight scoff, she leaned back into her chair. "Do you find my customary geniality toward her somehow wanting?"

"No. Not necessarily," he replied. "But, c'mon, you two hardly ever even talk to each other."

She offered only silence in reply, by which he wasn't surprised. In the year-and-a-half since he'd first introduced her to his now-intended, he'd never heard either of them speak openly about the other, whether in admiration or in condemnation. And although it was clear to him that the two women shared some sort of understanding regarding his relationships with each of them, the nature of that understanding had always confounded him. Every now and then, he'd asked for insight, but neither woman had ever been inclined to offer him any. He was, therefore, uneasy about their dynamic and couldn't help trying to improve it.

"Look, I'm not saying you two are meant to be the best of friends," he insisted to his companion. "I just think that you're both perfectly reasonable when you want to be and that whatever obstacle is between you can be overcome. For starters, when you're around her, maybe it wouldn't hurt if you tried to act just a little less… high and mighty."

"Ah, but there is the rub. I _am_ both high and mighty - as you lately have come to learn."

"Yeah, but she doesn't know you in the ways that I do now. And I'm sure you understand that it can be hard for someone like her to warm up to someone like you if she doesn't get the reasons for how you are."

After a long sigh and a longer pause, she met his gaze, and replied, "My sweet, ever-striving Sunshine, not all that appears broken in fact is. Just as not all that is in fact broken can or ought be fixed."

"Are you telling me to look harder or to look the other way?"

"I am assuring you of my intention to accord the bride every courtesy. Perhaps I will even ask her for the favor of a dance during the reception."

"Really?"

"If it pleases you."

He smiled, silently thanking her for her kindness, but when several more moments had passed, he took the opportunity to broach a more difficult topic. Lowering his voice and directing his gaze far out in front of them, he edged, "Speaking of broken things…"

She bristled visibly and wouldn't deign to follow his eyeline. The man of whom the groom was speaking stood near the front of the hall, pleasantly conversing with both strangers and acquaintances, and occasionally checking up on the young woman who was still primarily occupied with her book. Although generally unheard of by the public at large, the man was widely known throughout high society, where he was renowned as the childless, companionless heir to his affluent family's vast empire. And yet, even amongst such patrician familiars, he was still an elusive figure.

That his childhood had been tragic was widely understood, and as he'd spent his early twenties anonymously traveling the world, his young adulthood was believed to have been similarly fraught. However, his deportment since retuning home several years ago belied his trying past. He was jovial, despite the solitude he seemed to prefer; erudite, despite being apparently unmoved by any one subject; charitable, despite his ostensible indifference to politics or any particular cause. He was a man charismatic enough to win the approval of all those with whom he interacted during the galas and functions that he regularly attended, but not intriguing enough to leave any meaningful impression on his many acquaintances once he departed their company and retired to his ancestral manor.

However, as only a few handfuls of people knew, the man's affability where all but his intimates were concerned was largely a put-on - a daylight façade carefully cultivated since the completion of his hard-won education abroad and solely intended to preclude any suspicion about the manner in which he spent his nights.

Regardless of the nobility of his endeavors, however, his relationship with the woman who'd neither looked at nor spoken to him since their respective arrivals to the hotel the previous morning had grown increasingly strained in recent months, of which the couple for whose nuptials they were present was especially aware. Of the four of them, the woman with whom the groom sat was the only one disinclined to resolve a matter that she was determined, if not obliged, to let stand. Accordingly, her initial agitation regarding the issue was both slight and fleeting, and she promptly recovered her poise.

Crossing her legs in the groom's direction, she rested a hand on his knee as she told him, "My sweet, ever-striving Sunshine, for both your sake and mine, do not worry yourself overly much about him and me for the next few weeks. I desire your happiness unclouded by marginal concerns."

A smirk tugged at a corner of his mouth as he considered her reply, imbued with not tenderness alone. Whether by nature or by intent, she always projected a certain degree of menace, which he imagined only increased her appeal to the man she'd just warned him against trying to discuss with her any further for the time being. Still, as was their way, he answered her chill with warmth, resting an arm against the back of her chair and quietly telling her, "I don't think of what concerns you as marginal to my happiness."

After holding his gaze for a moment, she retorted, "Save the romance for your vows." Nonetheless, in simultaneously leaning into him and letting him drape his arm around her, she conveyed her thanks for his sentiment. "By the way," she continued shortly thereafter, "I should like to offer you something, given the significance of tomorrow's occasion."

Failing to recognize her gravity, he returned, "It's not a toaster or Tupperware, is it? Because me and my absentee fiancée's 'no gifts' request still stands."

"Fear not; what I offer is no domestic trifle… but rather the embrace of Paradise. I would see your union sanctified by our rites, in the name of the goddess queen."

That he didn't immediately respond conveyed his sense of her proposal's weight, and thus warmed her through and through. It comforted, it gratified her that despite him not being of her world, he still grasped what it meant for her to make such a gesture. And by that further illustration of his understanding and his appreciation, she thought with still more pleasure of their recent journey to her native land.

For the ten days prior to and the ten days following the summer solstice, he'd resided with her on a vast isle, which, thousands of years ago, had been elevated to a higher realm by celestial decree. It was a lush, mystical place, peopled by an advanced, communal society that nonetheless maintained its reverence for and connection to the natural world. Her fellows were a nation of hunters and cultivators, artisans and apprentices, bards and philosophers, priests and acolytes. And all of them, regardless of their station or occupation, designated themselves by one title, one calling above any other: warrior.

It was over the course of those enchanting, revelatory three weeks that he came to understand her in a way that, for all his prior efforts, he'd never been entirely able to before. Amongst her people, she was open, active, engaged. And in seeing her thus, he was afforded knowledge of that in which every one of her convictions, motivations, and loyalties were truly based - her spirituality.

His most meaningful experiences where her beliefs were concerned occurred during the five days he spent with her alone in the wilderness, when he accompanied her on her pilgrimage to a sacrosanct spring. They traveled by water, drifting along a river in a flat-bottomed boat, spending the days fishing and foraging, spending the nights lying out underneath the moon and stars, and talking all the while. By the time they reached the spring, they'd shared every significant tale of their birthplaces' respective histories, and had discussed everything from their public personas to their private lives, from the duties to which they'd been born to the destinies to which they felt themselves called. And so, with nothing left to do but wash away their cares and revitalize their spirits, she led him by the hand into the consecrated waters of her home.

The ritual she performed as they bathed typified the many other customs and traditions he either witnessed or participated in while he immersed himself in her way of life. On one occasion in particular, he attended the binding rite for three of her oldest friends. Afterward, he asked her why, given her ability to do so, she hadn't presided over their vows herself. Glad to satisfy his curiosity, she explained to him that acting in such a capacity would require her to invoke her true nature and power, which she and her mother had long ago agreed should only be done under the most extraordinary of circumstances.

For that reason especially, he was finding it hard to believe what she was now proposing. "I won't bother asking whether you're serious; I know you don't joke about your people, your home," he thus replied. "I just… I thought you exercise your authority even less often than your mom. Does she know about this?"

"As my sole superior in this regard, of course she does. In truth, we were not discussing you when the present notion arose, and I cannot say whether it originated from her or from me. Whichever the case, though, it is an end to which we naturally arrived and a distinction that would please us for me to bestow."

"But why?" he asked after a beat, his eyes fixed on her profile. "I like to think I know where I stand with you and her, but I'm only one half of the marital equation here. Are you absolutely sure she's foursquare behind you making so big an exception for someone entirely of _this_ world - a woman you seem able to only just tolerate?"

She didn't turn to meet his gaze. Instead, she shifted slightly, exhaled a contemplative breath, and merely said, "We have our reasons."

He paused, taking several moments to absorb, consider, and reconcile himself to her elusiveness. Once finished, he started thinking of how best to articulate his wholehearted acceptance of the privilege she was prepared to grant him and his betrothed, but in the midst of so doing, something of further significance occurred to him. "Hold on. Does all this mean you plan on explaining what you really are to my soon-to-be spouse? Because she still only knows what everyone else does. And, the way I understand it, there's no ritual you can perform without revealing that the whole ambassador thing doesn't even begin to tell the story of you."

Lightly, she returned, "Are you worried that the knowledge to which you are privy would prove too much for her?"

"Not so much," he chuckled. "She's always had a pretty high shock threshold."

"In any event, I feel it only appropriate that I pose to her the matter of the blessing. But I would prevail on you to explain to her the 'story of me,' as I expect any such a dialogue between us would prompt her to digress to the subject of… marginal concerns."

"He has a name, you know."

She cut her eyes at him for a moment, and, after smiling over his success in provoking her, he returned to the topic at hand, telling her that he'd be glad to share what he knew of her with the bride and going on to express how grateful he was for so rare a gift. "And, just in case you're wondering, even a worldview as secular as hers won't mean I'll be alone in feeling as honored as I do," he assured her. "So, how soon do you want to do the ritual?"

Looking out at the expansive hall and the bustle filling it, she replied, "When next the moon is full, I think. By then, I hope to have recovered from all of… this."

His mood, which had been especially bright over the last few days, was undaunted by her remark. Moreover, as he knew that her qualms regarding his and his fiancée's ceremony wouldn't prevent her from standing by him through it, he only hugged her closer and teasingly asked, "You do understand that 'this' holds a lot of meaning for me?"

"Of course, Sunshine," she gently returned, while resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. "I would not be here otherwise."

He peered down at her as she nestled herself against his side, and he found himself pleasantly reminded of the days and nights they'd spent together on the river. Beyond question, he knew that she'd come to regard him as a piece of the home that she cherished above all things, as a source of respite and reassurance while she resided in a world so different, so distant from her own. And, to be sure, he readily assumed the role she granted him, for he was indeed as invested in and as protective of her happiness as she was in and of his.

With such thoughts filling both of their minds, they sat together in silence for some time, enjoying the ease and familiarity between them as they waited for the rest of the day to begin.

Soon enough, the moment they'd been anticipating came to pass when they heard a distinctive voice abruptly addressing them both.

"God knows I hate to break you two up, but I need to borrow my roommate."


	3. Part One (Friends), Chapter Two

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER TWO

* * *

She felt bad enough as it was. Owing to both the wedding's unofficial coordinator and her obliging fiancé, practically all of the nuptial-related hassles she'd wished to avoid had been entirely taken care of. Appoint a few bridesmaids, attend a handful of meetings, and feel free to ask for anything from anyone at any time - that was more or less the full extent of the tasks with which she'd been charged over the eight months since she and her now-groom got engaged. And yet, the one request that no one should've had to make explicit was the one thing she'd yet to get right: show up on time.

"You've got to be out of your mind," she huffed at herself, while turning yet another unfamiliar corner. "Between the loading docks and the lobby, the choice should've been obvious."

The series of events that'd culminated in her present predicament began two weeks ago, when rumor surfaced of a late-breaking scandal at a high-profile international summit. Her editor-in-chief, who anticipated she'd be chomping at the bit to cover the story, only allowed her to pursue it on the sole condition that she have both her investigating and her reporting wrapped up by the time her wedding festivities began. Indeed, she managed to meet his term, but as she only made it back to Metropolis on the eve of her and her betrothed's big four-day weekend, she didn't have enough time to set her affairs in order for their month-long "buddymoon" abroad. Accordingly, her Thursday had been a hectic one, and she'd wound up being the last of the wedding party to arrive at the wedding site - which she did hours later than she was supposed to and without being ready to check in.

"Wrong floor," she rationalized, and set about trying to find the elevators. "This has to be the wrong floor."

Oddly enough, though, no one but her boss had given her any grief about her delayed arrival, which she initially suspected was either the result of a natural immunity granted to her in light of the occasion, or the result of the groom's likely insistence that everyone indulge her in all things for the next few days. But then, given that their wedding party abounded with willful personalities, she ultimately supposed that the leeway she received had less to do with propriety or cooperation, and more to do with most everyone being too busy enjoying the luxury in which they sat and the immediate company with which they were surrounded to bother with taking exception to her tardiness. Whichever the case, though, she determined to not chance her consequent good fortune by questioning it, and concentrated instead on the guests who soon began to descend upon the hotel.

For about the first twenty minutes of the coffee and dessert reception with which the weekend commenced, everything went to plan. Invitees and their accompanying friends, family members, or romantic partners mingled and got acquainted with each other and the wedding party, while sipping on made-to-order gourmet drinks and munching away on a variety of delights - cookies, cupcakes, brownies, and the like for those inclined to simplicity; and macarons, tartlets, puff pastries, and so forth for those with more discriminating tastes.

The younger crowd especially enjoyed the sundae bar, which, as the groom had previously suggested that the kids would likely prefer to create their own masterpieces, was self-serve. But not long did she have the pleasure of watching her fiancé happily cater to any child too little to reach the displays or too overwhelmed to decide on what to eat first before her maid of honor posed a casual inquiry that derailed the rest of her day: "Where's your engagement ring?"

It took her only an instant to realize that she couldn't precisely answer the question. Thus, from the mortification of having forgotten so crucial an element to her bridal presentation and, moreover, from the fear of failing to locate that element before its absence became apparent to all, she pulled the groom aside and claimed to need more time for errands and packing than she'd initially thought. He, of course, wholeheartedly understood, seeming almost relieved that she'd miss the reception walkthrough later that evening, and simply suggested that she take her personal attendant with her to help with the process. She declined and, in order to keep him from asking her why, wished him luck with her paternal family, promised him a surprise the next day, and slipped out.

Still, a productive evening and a restful night didn't keep her from oversleeping the following morning and only waking when her attendant arrived to pick her up. The accommodating younger man told her that no one would mind her missing the wedding party's breakfast gathering, since her betrothed, who'd decided to eat with the few hundred kids who'd been conveyed to the hotel earlier that morning, would be absent, too. The reassurance didn't allay her frustration with herself, though, and she'd therefore endeavored to atone for her previous missteps by at least making it to the ceremony rehearsal on time.

And yet, despite her best intentions, she was late for the second time in as many days.

More than that, she was lost and feeling all the worse for being so.

As she got off the elevator and began heading in what she hoped was finally the right direction, she muttered, "This is all his fault, anyway. Why didn't he make me pay more attention?"

Indeed, when they'd toured the venue months ago, he'd tried to do exactly that. Amongst other things, he told her that the hotel had been constructed a few years before, at the same time that its historic, five-star New York City counterpart had been undergoing an extensive renovation; and, moreover, that the classic, landmark building, which stood apart from the modern edifices of Metropolis, the City of Tomorrow, was fortuitously situated opposite the north end of Centennial Park.

Nonetheless, she was too absorbed by the enchanting enthusiasm with which he detailed the various advantages of the site to focus all that much on the substance of his descriptions or the path on which they were led. Consequently, she only grasped his primary argument for them deciding on the hotel as the location for their wedding: Its Rococo elegance, he maintained, would not only afford them the timeless ambiance that she'd mentioned preferring to a contemporary one, but would also allow them to honor the maternal roots of which she'd always been so proud.

Such were the kind of considerations he'd shown her as the plans for their nuptials had progressed. Alas, day two of the occasion was underway and she'd still yet to gratify him with the only thing that could perfect the happiness he'd already been enjoying - her company.

Luckily, however, as she made her way down yet another corridor, she glimpsed a sign that directed toward the outdoor gardens, which she vaguely remembered were adjacent to the areas of the hotel where the event halls were located.

"Finally," she sighed, quickening her pace.

When she exited the building and entered its extensive private grounds, she looked left and then right, only to find her vision obstructed by shrubberies far too high for her to see over. Undeterred, though, she took off down one of the shaded, cobblestone walkways, certain that if she followed it for long enough, it'd end at a familiar entrance.

Several winding turns later, she rounded the outer edge of a small pond and passed under a long, flowering archway. When she came out the other side, she caught her first glimpse of what appeared to be her destination a ways off in the distance. Although, no sooner did her spirits lift than her gaze was drawn to a flutter of movement she noticed out of her periphery.

Turning to her side, she observed the almost surreal sight of a young girl, the only other person she'd encountered since entering the gardens, kneeling down onto a rising patch of grass and looking intently at the backpack, sketchpads, and colored pencils scattered about at her feet.

Stopping in her hurried tracks, Lois Lane did a double take and peered around her, thinking that there had to be another adult somewhere nearby. When she didn't discover one, she spun back around to the girl, whose frustration with her predicament seemed to mirror that of her own with hers. And, feeling obliged to check on the tiny individual, she took a few steps toward her, and asked, "Hey, are you okay? Did you drop your things?"

The girl, who'd been too distracted to notice the person who was now addressing her, looked over her shoulder at the woman encroaching on her solitude, visibly recoiled, and said nothing.

Perplexed by the girl's wary expression and silence, Lois pressed, "Well, you're not lost, are you?" At the sound of further silence, a thought occurred to her, and she figured, "Oh, kids aren't supposed to talk to strangers, right? Okay, well… My name is Lois. And as much as I don't wanna bug you, you're little and I'm big, which means that regardless of how tight security is around here through Sunday, I can't just leave you all by yourself. So I'm gonna park it over there and mind my own business until whoever you belong to shows up. All right?"

When the girl responded with a slightly less distrustful look, Lois headed to the well-shaded wooden bench several strides off to the side of her young companion. As she plopped down, she felt her arms sag in relief from the weight of the purse, duffel, and two garment bags that she'd refused to leave in even her trustworthy attendant's hands. Not soon after she'd situated herself and her things, though, her business mobile began blaring out the ringtone assigned to her editor-in-chief. Upon digging through her purse and finding the noisy device, she rolled her eyes, promptly ignored the call, and relaxed back into her seat.

A few moments later, another call from the same man came through the cell she used for all things personal, but she dismissed it as well.

"Are you going to the wedding? _Mi papá_ told me only the grown-ups and the big kids are going, but that I can too if I stay quiet."

Surprised by the youthful voice she'd yet to hear, Lois put her two phones on silent and looked over at the little girl, who'd similarly settled herself into her space and had taken up a standard pencil and a sketchpad. Lois watched her as she began contentedly drawing the flowerbed directly in front of her, and she chuckled a bit as she reasoned that her suddenly sociable acquaintance must've been annoyed before she happened upon her, and that that annoyance likely came from her trouble in finding the plain instrument she wanted amongst the colored ones she'd apparently dumped out of her backpack.

Turning to face the small artist, Lois answered, "Yeah, I'm going."

"Do you want to?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied, thinking warmly of her fiancé.

"I don't. I got to be the flower girl at my daddies', but it was still boring."

"Did it take forever?"

The girl nodded.

"Yeah, I hate that, too. I mean, unless you've got, like, a non-secular thing going, why drag it out, right? You march in, hear some mush, say some mush, and then you march right back out and go play the reception game until it's time for what every hedonist lucky enough to make the guest list is waiting for: the after-party. And, believe you me, this one's going down in history. We're talking a private blowout at the city's premier nightclub, and enough booze, food, and debauchery to…" Lois trailed off as the girl, who couldn't have been more than seven- or eight-years-old, paused in the midst of her sketching and turned to look at her in bewilderment. Promptly, she reconsidered their line of conversation and tried a different tack. "Anyway, I hear the dynamic duo behind this weekend made sure there's lots going on for all the kids - movies, live shows, arts and crafts, not to mention the big to-do across the street in the park. So you probably don't have to sit around with the grown-ups if you'll just be bored."

"I don't care, so long as I get to meet the lady. _Mi papá_ told me I could yesterday, but she wasn't here. So he says unless I change my mind about our museum day, I have to wait until tomorrow."

"You lost me, short stuff. What lady?"

The girl responded that the woman of whom she was speaking was the bride, who, according to her stepfather, was friends with her "all-time favorite hero in the whole wide world."

Smirking, Lois then asked, "Why do you wanna meet her?"

With a sudden burst of energy, the girl leapt up from her seat on the grass, picked up her backpack, and began rifling through it. Lightly laughing at the endearing display, Lois listened to the tiny enthusiast begin explaining that she and her peers had painted portraits of their idols for their final project of the school year, and that her art teacher had been so impressed with hers that he'd had her enter it in a statewide competition, which she ultimately won.

Lois offered her praises, which the girl eagerly accepted as she found what she was looking for and rushed over to her congratulator's side.

"Here it is!" she proudly reported, having thrust a framed watercolor into Lois's hands. "I painted it from a photo that my daddies found for me. They were really proud and now I take special classes. And they think I should keep it, but I wanna give it to the lady, because I want her to give it to him, because I think he'd really like it."

Smiling, Lois looked over the image of her betrothed clad in his red and blue, soaring through the sky. And she replied, "Yeah, I'm sure he would. But, actually -"

Just then, a flustered man in about his mid-thirties appeared from underneath the archway. He was looking all around, muttering to himself in a bilingual ramble, and, upon perceiving the girl at Lois's side, rushed over to embrace her.

"Here you are!" he exclaimed, relieved. "_Mija_, how many times do I have to tell you not to wander off?"

His daughter explained that she'd gotten bored waiting for him outside the men's washroom she'd refused to enter and had decided to go explore the gardens. During her walk, though, she'd been struck by a bed of roses, and, as her tutor had instructed her to practice as much as possible, she'd stopped to sketch the flowers.

"I can see that," he replied, looking around the grass at her scattered drawing materials. With a sigh, he shrugged off his daughter's misguided actions and simply instructed her to knock on the washroom door to hurry him along next time. She agreed, and he then turned his attention to the woman who'd been watching their exchange. Immediately recognizing her, he beamed, "Oh, Ms. Lane! Hi there. I'm so sorry if she was any trouble."

"Call me 'Lois,'" she replied, standing up and shaking the man's outstretched hand. "And no worries - she's great. I just figured I'd keep her company for a bit."

"I really appreciate that."

"Totally not a problem. But, uh… I'm sorry, I get the feeling we've met before and I can't quite place where."

The man graciously re-introduced himself as Héctor García, the husband of the _Daily Planet_'s city editor, Randall Brady. At the mention of her colleague, Lois remembered having met Héctor at an employee cookout a few months ago, and, after apologizing for forgetting him, asked, "You guys are newlyweds, right?"

"Yes," he affirmed with a grin, as he began picking up his daughter's effects. "We had a small ceremony in Centennial Park the same week the amendment went into effect."

"Well, congrats! Randall's been on cloud nine ever since. I don't think he even remembers ever being the office grouch. No offense."

"None taken. And thank you. We're both very happy." Then, returning her warm wishes, he mentioned, "Oh, by the way, I read about the movie deal for your memoir. That must be exciting."

Lois started to reply that it indeed was, but the little girl, whose attention had lapsed while the two adults exchanged pleasantries, was suddenly piqued and asked what her father meant. With great satisfaction, Héctor briefly explained the matter to his daughter and then told her that Lois was the bride she'd been looking forward to meeting that weekend.

"Oh, my god! Really?!" she shrieked, turning to Lois and bounding up and down from the excitement that overtook her. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I was about to."

Héctor chuckled as his daughter threw her arms around Lois and declared how happy she was. And even Lois, who scarcely ever developed much of an opinion about the children she encountered, was charmed by the impish spirit and unbridled enthusiasm of the girl who was squeezing her with all her might.

When her newest fan finally let her go, Lois explained to her that although she was certain her superhero acquaintance would be both impressed by and grateful for the portrait she wanted him to have, he made a point of not accepting gifts, no matter how big or small.

"But can you still show it to him?" the youngster asked.

Lois happily agreed to do just that whenever she next had the opportunity, and received another big hug and a series of ecstatic thanks in reply.

Shortly thereafter, Héctor intervened, telling his daughter, "All right, Ella. You'll suffocate her if you keep that up."

At the sound of her mother's name, Lois felt herself staggered, and, looking from the young girl to her father, asked, "Your name is - Her name is 'Ella'?"

Héctor noticed the sudden wavering in the bride's composure. But, endeavoring to not exacerbate it by addressing it, he simply replied, "In fact, it's 'Marivella,' after her _mamá_. Isn't that right, _mija_?"

Marivella groaned at her father's teasing utterance of her actual name, and Lois used the brief interval to gather herself. When she felt up to speaking again, she offered, "That's really pretty. Don't you like it?"

"It's _so_ _long_," complained Marivella, rolling her eyes and drawing out her words for emphasis.

Amused, Lois told her, "Well, I can't blame you for wanting to keep things simple. I'm named after my mom, too, but even she went by something short and sweet. Pretty much everyone in my family does. You could say we value efficiency over accuracy."

"'Lois' is a nickname?" interjected Héctor, who couldn't have known that the bride and groom had intentionally forgone including their formal designations on their wedding literature. "I wasn't aware."

"Oh, it's a well-guarded secret. Even the groom wasn't in on it for a long time. But the truth is making its first and only public appearance in the ceremony tomorrow."

Upon Héctor hearing the mention of her nuptials, a sudden realization dawned on him and he checked his watch. _"Ay dios mío_! Aren't we keeping you from the rehearsal? It was scheduled for eight o'clock, wasn't it?"

"Ah, don't worry about it. I was already running late. Force of habit."

"In any case, we should let you go," he maintained, zipping up his daughter's backpack and taking her hand.

Lois, too, gathered her belongings - tucking away Marivella's prized painting in her duffle; hoisting up her other bags - and was just about to make her goodbyes when Héctor asked her if she needed any help carrying her things to the hall. She declined the offer, but, after another moment's thought, did concede that she'd already gotten herself lost once before and wouldn't mind precise directions if it wasn't any trouble.

"None at all. We'll take you there ourselves."

"And then we're going to the museums, right?" chimed in Marivella, eager to begin the daylong outing Héctor and his husband had promised their only child.

"Yes, _mija_. Yes."

Lois smiled, thinking of her own father's doting, though not so indulgent, nature, as Héctor led both her and his daughter out of the garden. Soon enough, they entered the hotel, made their way up a staircase and down a couple corridors, and arrived outside the row of double doors that lined one side of the hall in which the ceremony would be held. From there, the two adults made their parting civilities and paid each other their respective thanks. Marivella then hugged Lois one final time, reminded her of showing her idol his portrait, and, once she'd received the bride's assurances and her business card, waved goodbye and dragged her father away.

With a twinge of disappointment, Lois watched the young girl depart her company, thinking, _Sharp, chatty, talented, and pushy - definitely an 'Ella.'_ After another moment or two, though, her pair of acquaintances rounded a corner and disappeared from her sight, leaving her alone to refocus herself on the day ahead.

Turning to one of the double doors, she grasped the handle, paused to take a deep breath, and whispered to herself, "Game time. Let's do this." After which, she slipped into the hall and crept over to the edge of the terrace. Peeking over the balustrade, she scanned the various individuals below, searching for the man with whom she needed to speak before any other madness ensued.

Promptly enough, she found him, and saw without the least bit of surprise that he was sitting contentedly in a back row - with his arm around his best man.


	4. Part One (Friends), Chapter Three

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER THREE

* * *

Neither his betrothed nor his best man wore perfume. The former objected to doing so in consequence of an upbringing that taught her to esteem natural beauty; the latter simply considered doing so beneath her dignity. Accordingly, their innate allures were never overpowered by artificiality, which was an attribute he adored about them both.

Such convictions and characteristics, though, meant that unless he availed himself of the full reach of his sensory abilities, he had to be in the women's immediate companies to enjoy their scents and the subtle bouquets that complemented them. Otherwise, he was left to only his memories of their signatures - a pleasing enough consolation due to the near-perfect recall that his powers afforded him, but rather a disappointment in comparison with reality.

All the same, for the last little while, he'd been forced to resign himself to no such solace as he sat with his best man, breathing in the lingering aromas of the milk and honey in which she regularly bathed, as well as the airy quality that was hers and hers alone. In time, though, a second fragrance began to drift into the atmosphere surrounding him. He recognized it at once. However, as he couldn't be certain of whether it was remembrance or reality that had piqued his senses, he didn't allow himself to hope that the woman whose incomparable blend of sweetness and spice never failed to affect him was indeed near.

And yet, no sooner had he girded himself against mistaking the fact of her presence than her voice followed the arrival of her scent.

"God knows I hate to break you two up, but I need to borrow my roommate."

At the sound of his fiancée's whispered remark, he looked back over his shoulder and positively beamed upon seeing her for the first time since the afternoon before. "Hey, you're here!"

She almost chastised him for his exclamation, but the grin with which he instinctively welcomed her prevented her from doing so. "Yes, Smallville," she thus smirked, keeping her voice low in hopes of him doing the same. "I'm here. And I need to talk to you."

The volume of her second comment struck his notice, and, upon observing her crouched position behind the chairs in which he and his best man were seated, he grasped that she didn't intend her presence to be proclaimed just yet. Accordingly, he nodded his understanding to the bride and then, turning to his best man, who'd lifted her head from his shoulder when she too heard the bride's voice, quietly said, "Excuse me."

"By all means," she replied, as he took his arm from around her.

With as little commotion as possible, Clark got to his feet and made his way down the aisle in front of the row in which he'd been sitting. Meanwhile, the two women who were momentarily left to themselves made eye contact, acknowledging each other with the same courtesy that they always did. But, as had become their wont when they were in public, they exchanged no words.

Lois then turned away from her counterpart as she felt Clark appear at her side and reach for her bags.

"Let me help you with some of that -"

"- Are you insane?!" she hissed at him, jerking her belongings away from his outstretched hands. "Try that again and your ass is grass! This stuff is bridal confidential. Top secret. No sugary sweet or gallingly gallant grooms allowed. Capiche?"

He only chuckled in response, and, upon figuring that he did so because he hadn't enjoyed a good berating from her in over a month, she rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and began walking toward the back staircase. The best man, who'd observed the couple's exchange with her usual silent intrigue, slowly turned back around in her chair as the groom dutifully followed after the bride, and savored what she was certain would be her last few moments of peace for the time being.

As soon as Clark had reached Lois's earshot, he teasingly asked, "What's in the duffle? My surprise?"

"Mind your own business."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Take it however you want, just shut up and keep up," she insisted, pausing to decide whether it'd be best to lead him straight out the back of the hall or up onto the terrace running along its right side.

"But I thought you wanted to talk."

Starting off toward the high-arching double doors straight ahead of them, she replied, "Not until we find someplace private."

"Fair enough. But can we at least get someone to help you with your things first?"

"No. And if you nag me about it one more time -"

Just then, both the bride and the groom were stopped in their tracks by an incensed, bellowing voice from above.

"Lane!"

With an exasperated groan, Lois turned around to see her boss striding down the terrace, outpacing Martha, who'd just reentered the hall with him and who'd caught sight of Lois just as soon as he had. "For the love of Bono, Chief, can we not do this right now?" she called out to him, her tone inflected with every bit of the flippancy she intended.

"Well, when would be a good time for you?"

"Half past never. Duh."

"See? That! That right there!" he shouted, marching down the stairs while also trying to not spill his coffee. "That I put up with _that_ kind of crap from you is exactly why I have HR pissing in my ear every other day about preferential treatment complaints!"

"Like you care."

"That's not the point!"

Lois sharply exhaled, set her jaw, and shifted her weight to one hip, thus assuming the stance that Clark recognized from his own rows with her. He knew that she wouldn't yield, and he'd witnessed enough overblown spats between her and their editor-in-chief to know that Perry wouldn't, either. But then, Clark didn't at all object to the flare-up between the two, as it underscored the elements that had been missing from the present affair since the previous day. The energy, the spark, the volatility - they'd finally returned in the person of one Lois Lane, the woman to whose fire he was inescapably drawn.

"All right, Chief, let's just bottom-line this," she insisted, readjusting her belongings in her hands and preparing to thunder away at the man who was coming upon her. "Yes, I know that I'm late. Yes, I ignored your calls. But, no, I absolutely do not give a hell that you had to play nice for one whole evening in your crab-ass life!"

Perry, mouth agape, turned to look at Martha, who, given her confidence that there were no children nearby had resigned herself to letting the two combatants have their dispute, only regarded him in silence, as if to convey that he was getting exactly that for which he'd been asking. Trying to gain some traction, the older man turned back to the bride and began enumerating his grievances. He'd had to make small talk, he complained to her. He'd had to smile, pose for pictures, and answer countless inane questions about her, her intended, and the role he was playing in their ceremony - all while resisting the urge to assert his objections to government-regulated matrimony.

"Oh, come off it," she scoffed. "You're only peeved because you haven't once had to see this time of day in the two years since you took the executive editor position."

"Kid, by Caesar's ghost, if you were any other employee -"

"- No one's forcing you to be here, you know."

Her snide, almost taunting tone redoubled his irritation with her, and he raved, "What the - How does that even - You asked me to! _You_ asked me to be here!"

"Well, consider yourself disinvited."

"Well, consider yourself fired!"

"Like hell! Two words:_ Daily Star_. Do you seriously wanna lose me to your stiffest competition? Keep blowing hot air my way and I'll make that decision for you - by quitting!"

As the wrangling carried on, Martha observed both her son, whose eyes were fixed on the bride with nothing but satisfaction, and the few handfuls of spectators who'd begun to gather around the quarrelling twosome. Nearly everyone seemed more amused than disconcerted by the display most of them had witnessed at least once before. Even the quiet and kindly Hubbard brothers, Benjamin and Michael, who'd been glad to accept their godson's invitation to be his guests of honor, were enjoying subtle laughs. However, in the face of an acquaintance of about her own age, Martha recognized a guardian's sense of concern. Stepping over toward her, a willowy, brown-skinned woman with crinkly, close-cropped hair, she whispered, "They're always like this. All bark; no bite. And still each other's biggest fans."

Aimée Moreau, the bride's godmother and one of her two guests of honor, nodded her thanks for Martha's explanation and replied in a thick French accent that Lois had grown up squabbling with her mother and father in a similar fashion. She added, though, that Lois's parents had been adamant in encouraging both their daughters, the elder one especially, in their forcefulness.

With a smile, Martha said, "It's no wonder, then, that she and her sister can't seem to go ten minutes around one another without bickering. But, of course, you'd know that better than anyone."

Aimée chuckled in agreement and, along with Martha, redirected her attention to the fracas the mother of the groom felt obliged to end. As it happened, Martha had had Lois and Perry over to the Kent farm regularly enough to know that once they began lobbing empty threats of dismissal, suspension, or resignation at each other, they'd reached the point where all constructive venting was over.

Of course, how the pair got around to arguing so much in the first place would always be lost on her. They were, after all, kindred spirits - brazen, talkative, opinionated individuals, who shared similarly outsized personalities and many of the same talents and viewpoints. More than that, whether in the professional or the personal realms, they were nothing but fond of one another, to which the good faith and mutual respect of their arguments would've attested even if the volume and vulgarity that came with them did not.

In any case, though, Martha didn't hesitate to pull aside one of her son's groomsmen and to instruct him to throw himself in the line of fire. Grudgingly, the young man cooperated, lifting the camera around his neck, pointing the device at his peer and his superior, and then pressing its shutter-release button.

"Jimmy!"

"Olsen!"

The simultaneous barking that Lois and Perry unleashed at the photographer made him reflexively cringe. But, as he was situated next to Martha, who was patting his back for his courage, he was subjected to no further rebuke from the duo.

After a beat, Martha then smirked, "Are you two quite finished?"

Neither of them said a word, thus acknowledging that they were indeed done.

Carissa Jarvis, who'd been standing next to a tall, well-built man whose nattily appointed business attire resembled that of her own, received from him a small nudge to her shoulder, as if to point out to her that she was staring - or, to be more precise, gawking in besotted awe. The man, who often ribbed her about what he knew to be her affinity for Lois, had already spent the time before the bride's arrival repeatedly asking her what page of the woman's bestselling memoir she was on. Unsurprisingly, he'd again remarked on her telling behaviors when she, upon perceiving the object of her affections' entrance, shot up from her chair, put away her tablet, and checked her appearance before heading to the back of the hall.

Nonetheless, given that the tiff around which the wedding's inner circle had gathered was over, the bump that Carissa received, rather than vexing her, prompted her to focus on the role for which she'd eagerly volunteered shortly after Aimée and Martha had announced Lois and Clark's engagement last Thanksgiving. Consequently, the wedding's unofficial coordinator stepped forward, stated her intention to go collect the missing members of the team primarily responsible for the weekend's goings-on, and slipped away.

After Carissa, followed by Ace, her longtime personal assistant, had departed, Dinah Lance sashayed her way up along the bride's side, and casually stated, "I'll have you know your squawking is only getting more shrill." Lois narrowed her eyes at her bridesmaid, but Dinah, who'd happened to notice Lois's initial appearance into the hall and had watched her refuse to hand over her things to the groom, ignored the glower her colleague and friend was giving her, and reached for her two garment bags and duffel. "Do you want these up in your rooms?"

"Yeah. Thanks," replied Lois, gratefully allowing the only person who'd seen the general contents of all three bags to take them off her hands. When an older woman then presented herself as well, asking if she could be of use, Lois readily accepted. "I'll unpack the bags later," she said to her in a lowered voice, taking a large jewelry case from her duffel and entrusting it to the tall, polished brunette. "Can you just make sure this gets in the safe? I think it's in one of the closets."

"I'll show her where," said Dinah to Lois, before beginning to lead away Moira de Chevalier, the bride's other honored guest and the only sibling of her late mother. As Dinah swaggered back past Clark, however, she paused to tell him in a pronounced voice, "Really, Sugar, get out while you still can. No one will blame you." With that, she then left the groom to his smile and the others to their laughs, and headed off with Moira to the bridal party's suite.

Lois, rolling her eyes at the amusement everyone was enjoying at her expense, hiked her purse up onto her shoulder, went to press a quick kiss good-morning to her godmother's cheek, and then grabbed the sleeve of Clark's dress shirt. "Go ahead, yuck it up," she said to one and all, dragging away the groom as she headed toward the stairs. "I need to speak to my roommate."

"Fiancé!" called out Perry and Martha in chorus, taunting the bride for her longstanding inability to verbally characterize the man she was presently towing behind her as anything other than a cohabitant.

Clark made his and Lois's excuses to the party and assured them that he and she would only be a few minutes. But, despite the earnestness of his statements, Lois could still hear mirth in his voice.

"What's so funny, chuckles?" she demanded, briefly looking over her shoulder at him as they climbed the flight of stairs.

"Nothing. I just don't get why you can't call me what I really am."

"A pain in my ass?"

He laughed, "Don't get me wrong - this quirk isn't new. You hardly ever used the B-word before I… well, before I gave you the rest of the pieces to my puzzle. And you never used it after that. Not even once."

"Which you should take as a compliment. I've had plenty of B-words before, but post-'My name is Clark and my name is also yada, yada, yada,' you stopped being just that."

"I know. But it's nice to hear you say so out loud," he smiled, while disregarding the irritated look she subsequently threw at him. "Seriously, though, how are you gonna get used to saying the H-word when you can't even use the F-word?"

"I use the F-word plenty."

"Sure, but that's not the one I'm talking about."

Ignoring his smirking retort as they made their way to the far end of the terrace and behind one of the columns that divided its balustrade, she insisted, "Whatever. Can we just stay on point here?"

He conveyed his cooperation by remaining silent as she brought them to a halt and squared herself to him. However, while she leaned sideways to peer past him and ensure that they were indeed out of everyone's line-of-sight, he occupied himself by glancing over her appearance, and couldn't help remarking, "I know I keep saying it, but you really do look amazing."

"For all the work I've put in, I damn well better," she absently muttered, resituating herself in front of him and digging through her purse.

The work to which she was referring was her self-imposed, three-month-long health and beauty regimen, which she'd commenced at the close of her bridal shower weekend in April. The program comprised an exhaustive series of hair, skin, and nail treatments, as well as a modified diet that increased her water intake, minimized her consumption of certain fruits and meats, and cut out all alcohol. Her intended had maintained from the start that she shouldn't trouble herself so much, that it was more than enough that she already exercised regularly and already had the luxury of a health-conscious live-in chef - himself. Nonetheless, she'd been adamant that the occasion of their wedding called for more than just the standard routine and she'd thus adhered diligently to her plan, which, as it sometimes necessitated daylong salon and spa visits, at least allowed her the opportunity to pamper her coworker bridesmaid and the mother of the groom, whom she always invited along with her under the guise of needing company.

To the groom's credit, though, he hadn't begrudged her the efforts that he knew were meant entirely for him. And he had often gone so far as to chauffeur her and her two companions to and from their various appointments, while listening to them anticipate or recount their experiences in a world entirely alien to him, a world concerned with cleansers and creams, massages and masks, saunas and soaks. Moreover, he, at all times attentive and affectionate toward the women in his life, had taken every chance to offer the three of them his compliments, the most glowing of which he always reserved for the bride-to-be.

"I mean it, Sweetheart," he persisted, echoing what had now been months of flattery. "You always look incredible, but this is… something else."

"One: It's called a bridal glow and I'm glad you like it. Two: Watch it with the S-word; we're in public," she curtly replied, finally pulling free the square tin buried at the bottom of her purse and hastily pushing it into his chest. "Here. That's for you."

With a chuckle, he took the container from her and cracked it open. "Is this my surprise?" he then asked, delighted by the discovery of one of his favorite breakfast items: blueberry oat bars.

"No, actually," she admitted, her expression and manner becoming both earnest and contrite as she instinctively touched the token on her left fourth finger. "It's an apology."

"For what?"

"Well, I, uh… I sorta couldn't find my ring."


	5. Part One (Friends), Chapter Four

Part One (Friends), Chapter Four

* * *

She'd begun to fidget. But, as he supposed her nervous energy stemmed from guilt and as he knew the easiest way of assuaging that guilt would be to let her explain herself, he didn't reply to her initial confession. In consequence, she soon began rambling away about having misled him as to her reasons for leaving so soon the afternoon before. Furthermore, she admitted to having overslept that morning and went on to insist that she'd intended to still make the rehearsal on time, but as her regimen dictated a round of cardio and a deep-moisturizing facial treatment, she'd unfortunately failed to achieve her goal.

"And I figured that if I was gonna keep you waiting again, then I should at least come bearing gifts," she said, dropping her hands and her shoulders as she concluded. "So I made you something you'd like while I was getting ready. Page helped, though. He took them out of the oven when they were done and he packed them up once they'd cooled. Granted, I may have promised him a slow, painful death if he ever tells anyone he witnessed me bake."

With a straight face, he studied her for a few seconds. Then, reaching into the tin for one of his treats, he feigned discontent, saying, "I can't believe you lost your ring."

"I didn't lose it," she countered, unable to resist defending herself on at least that point. "It's just that I haven't put it on in so long that I couldn't remember where I last saw it."

While he chewed away on a generous bite, he recalled the reasons that'd occasioned her decision to forgo wearing her engagement ring on a daily basis. As she was left-handed, she'd often found herself knocking the memento against hard surfaces as she reached for or handled things. And as she tended to flirt with sources who weren't nearly as pliable otherwise, she'd found it impossible to maintain a show of availability whilst she bore an ostensible sign of investment elsewhere. More than that, though, she'd discovered shortly into their engagement that the gift he'd intended as a token of affection and remembrance was too often construed as a mark of ownership, as a redefinition of her values and aspirations. And she couldn't bear to have notions she loathed heaped onto the keepsake she cherished.

Sympathetic to her rationale, he'd accepted the outcome brought about by a world-at-large that hadn't yet learned to appreciate her brand of womanhood in the way that he did - the outcome that meant he and his fiancée enjoying the sight of her ring on her finger only on special, private occasions. Still, he'd never reconciled himself to the situation. And as he swallowed his mouthful, he pleased himself with the thought of the remedy with which he'd soon be able to present her.

For the time being, though, he refocused on her present anxiety. "So where'd you find it?" he asked, peering down at her ring.

"In your nightstand. The one in your room, I mean."

"And why wasn't it in one of yours?" he pressed, referring to her three bedside tables: the first flanking her bed in her bedroom; the second, his bed in his bedroom; and the third, their bed in the master suite neither of them claimed.

"I don't know."

"Maybe yours were too crammed and messy."

"That doesn't make sense. I could've just moved some stuff around and made room for -" She stopped short upon realizing that he was mocking her, not interrogating her, and she planted her hands on her hips to convey her irritation. "Why are you making fun of me when I'm trying to apologize?"

Finally letting his amusement show, he chuckled, "Because you can't remember the night you specifically told me that you were going to start keeping your ring in my nightstand so that if you ever forgot where it was, I would still know."

She paused, running through her recollection of having last worn her ring during the dinner party they'd hosted for his twenty-fifth birthday back in May. But between that evening and the present morning, she couldn't recall the instance he was describing. "Was I half-asleep or something?" she consequently asked.

"Yep. Long day. Longer night. You were exhausted."

"Well, why didn't you just say so, jerk?" She punched him in his arm, but he only laughed at her more and took another bite out of his bar. Rolling her eyes and trying to remain serious, she maintained, "Either way, I'm still sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten where it was in the first place. I mean, you'd never do that. You never even take yours off."

"Yeah, but hardly anyone knows I even have one, let alone that I'm wearing it - all because you blush over just the thought of people knowing you proposed."

"I'm my mother's daughter; I don't blush."

"You're not only hers. And you're doing it right now." He smirked as she scoffed at his remark but also reflexively touched one of her flushed cheeks. "Anyway," he continued, "you don't need to apologize. You were worried about this sort of situation happening someday, so you left your ring where you thought it'd be safest - with me."

"Is that what I told you at the time?"

He nodded.

"Well, then, I definitely believe you about me being halfway to la-la land, because I'd never say something that gooey if I were in my right mind."

She could protest against such a notion all she wanted to, but he well knew that she had quite the capacity for sentimentality. To be sure, she hardly ever put her affections for those to whom she was close into words, but that didn't mean she ever hesitated to convey them with her actions. Such was a trait she'd adopted from the father she admired and adored, a man who was always sending her care packages chocked full with everything he thought she might need, want, or simply enjoy - running shoes, concert tickets, gaming accessories, and so on - but never included a card along with them. For that reason, Clark let her denial go and simply took up her hand with his.

"You don't have to wear this, you know. Not if you'll be uncomfortable," he whispered, brushing his lips against her finger and kissing the token adorning it.

Their eyes met.

She'd tensed, as his touch, though only slight, had sent a ripple of warmth through her. He sensed her reaction; he heard her breath catch and her heart flutter. And his thoughts flew to exactly that which hers did.

It'd been too long - an entire month, in fact. Neither of them could be or were insensible of that. But the present moment wasn't the time to address a matter with only one satisfactory resolution.

She blinked.

Their moment passed.

"No, I, uh… It's fine. I want to," she said, clearing her throat as she re-collected herself. "It's our big weekend, right? How can I not wear my ring?"

Having gathered himself likewise, he smiled as he eagerly asked, "Well, speaking of our big weekend, what do you think so far?"

With pleasure, she spent the next minute or so indulging him with praises and anecdotes about the previous day's mixer and about the contentedness of all the guests she'd had time to encounter. Everybody seemed thrilled with their first-class travel, five-star accommodations, and personalized welcome baskets; and all the work that he and Carissa put in was indeed paying off in a well-run, unforgettable event. Lastly, she, after having peeked over the edge of the balcony to finally take in the nearly completed work that was going in to setting up for the next day's ceremony, declared everything to be as enchanting as she'd imagined it would be, and particularly mentioned how pleased she was with the dais constructed at the front of the hall.

He beamed, grinning from ear to ear, barely able to contain himself. "So you're excited?"

"I'm impressed, is what I am," she smirked, plucking the rest of his bar from his grasp and sticking it into his mouth. "You didn't even know what a save-the-date was eight months ago."

"But are you _excited_?" he muffled through his mouthful.

She smiled and gently replied, "Not quite to the giddy degree that you are. But, absolutely, Smallville, I'm excited."

All the more enthused, he swallowed his bite and promptly articulated the whim that'd just taken hold of him: "Let's just do it now."

"Oh, god. Here you go again."

"C'mon, I'm serious this time," he said, his countenance all alight. "Practically everyone who's supposed to be here already is. Let's just do it now. Right now."

"What about Aunt Moira? Lance? CJ?"

"They'll be back any minute. I can wait that long."

"And what about Kara? She's flying across twelve galaxies just to make a twenty-minute ceremony."

"So long as we don't leave for the honeymoon without her, I think she'll get over it. Besides, we'll take lots of pictures, so it'll be like she didn't miss a thing."

Delighting in his mirth, she remarked, "Weddings get you so amped up. You were bursting with this same goofy energy all the way through Chloe and Jimmy's service."

"Are you shooting me down again, Lane?"

"Mm-hmm. If only because I've promised practically every woman on my mom's and Aimée's sides that I'll show for my prenuptial bathing tonight."

With an exaggerated groan, he forced himself to accept reason and yielded. "Fine. We'll stick to the schedule."

She laughed a bit and their eyes met once more. Soon, however, his attention was drawn to the sound of a door opening down the way and to the sight of Carissa and Ace, followed by seven or eight other individuals, re-entering the hall. The group didn't notice the bride and groom over whose nuptials they'd been laboring, but Clark still felt it only right that he and Lois bring their chat to a close.

"We should get back," he accordingly told her, re-securing the top of the tin in his hands.

As he turned back in her direction, she lifted her gaze from his lips, on which she'd been fixated while he watched the procession making its way to the main floor. But as she wasn't yet ready to abandon their interlude, she asked him about the youthful company in which he'd spent his breakfast. With a smile, he told her that his few hundred special guests had raved over the party buses that'd conveyed them from their group home and over the smorgasbord that'd awaited them at the hotel. Although, as expected, they'd been anxious to finish eating and set off for the carnival waiting for them in the park.

"And what about your night? How was your night?" she then pressed. "After your lame excuse for a bachelor party, I mean."

"It wasn't too bad," he responded, chuckling at her opinion of the hours of gaming he'd let Bart and Jimmy host for him in one of the hotel's private lounges. Then, lowering his voice, he detailed, "A museum heist, a few muggings, a chat with a prime minister, a pet cat stuck up a tree - that sort of thing."

"So just the episodic stuff, then? No major arcs? No otherworldly menaces, no black-ops supervillain squads?"

"Nah. Nothing like that."

"Good. And did anyone ask you about me? About this weekend?"

"Um… No, actually," he acknowledged, briefly looking over his shoulder and finding his best man, who'd finally risen from her seat and was on her way to joining the rest of the wedding party. "All anyone asks her or me about since we've been back is each other."

He was still a tad uncomfortable on the topic, which prompted her to reassure him by insisting, "Well, that's good. That means it's still working."

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, reminding himself of why it'd been in the best interest of all those for whom he cared to associate his superhero persona with that of his best man's. Thus assuaged, he offered the woman before him a smile and reached for her hand, saying, "Anyway, we really should get back."

Before he could lead her off, though, she held her ground and asked him what was on the agenda after the rehearsal was over. Unsuspecting of the basis for her question, he told her that while the wedding party wasn't needed at the carnival until noon, pretty much everyone intended to head there as soon as they were finished in the hall.

She paused for a moment, glancing past him at the crowd that had gathered. More than one pair of eyes had begun to glimpse in her and her fiancé's general direction; more than one person could plainly see both her and him. But she didn't care. Nothing and no one would've stopped her from peering up into his gaze and taking a deliberate step into his immediate space.

"Well, since everyone's gonna be otherwise occupied," she whispered, brushing a few of her fingers down the length of his necktie, "do you think we could slip away for an hour or so?"

Her overture was plain. The warmth of her nearness, the timbre of her voice, the manner of her touch - nothing belied the request she was making.

And yet, despite the instinctive stirring of his blood, his thoughts were consumed by the need for a conversation he'd hoped to avoid broaching altogether. "Yeah. Of course," he thus replied, while reflexively pushing his glasses farther back onto the bridge of his nose. "I, uh… I mean, I don't see why we can't take off for a little bit. It's just -"

His mother's voice calling out to them cut him short. She was entreating their return - or so that was all Lois heard. Clark, on the other hand, could tell by his mother's subtle inflection that she was directly addressing him, reminding him of the talk she'd had with him a few nights ago. And as she was choosing that exact moment to re-assert her point, he was left in no doubt that she'd witnessed every moment of his intended's advance.

Too satisfied with the result of their chat to ask him why he'd gone a bit red in the face, Lois brightly said, "C'mon. Let's not keep the lady waiting," and began tugging Clark back down the length of the terrace.

On their way, he complimented his apology gift and thanked her for it, but added that he was sorry she'd put herself out by mistake.

"Ah, don't mention it," she replied, throwing a wink over her shoulder. "I'm always happy to please."

He blushed all over again as she let go of his hand and outstripped him, bounding down the stairs and focusing her attention on Carissa, whose eyes lit up to see the woman with whom she was so smitten rushing toward her before even acknowledging anyone else.


	6. Part One (Friends), Chapter Five

Part One (Friends), Chapter Five

* * *

"Carissa Jarvis, you godsend! Sorry about the late-itude."

"Oh, don't worry; there's plenty of cushion in the schedule," smiled Carissa, happily accepting the hug Lois had to bend down a bit to give her. "How are you?"

"Never mind me. You're not working too hard, are you?"

"Of course not."

Lois laughed, "What are the chances that's a lie?"

"Zero to none. Honestly, between Ace and the team, practically everything's off my hands."

"Nothin' hotter than a woman who knows how to delegate," remarked the bride, withdrawing far enough from Carissa to take her in. "I gotta say, CJ, I didn't look anywhere near this good after my first and last attempt at wedding planning. Did you do something with your hair since yesterday? There's definitely some extra oomph goin' on there."

Carissa, flustered from Lois's attentions, shyly touched the back of her dark pixie-cut and said that she'd gotten a rinse at the hotel's salon the night before.

"And you didn't invite me?"

As Carissa chuckled at Lois's pretended offense and reminded her that she wasn't around the previous evening, Clark reached the bottom of the terrace stairs and smiled at the kindness his betrothed was making a point of showing toward the younger woman of whom she was so fond. Although, for as pleased as Clark could be with the display, Lois's maid of honor, the man who'd teased Carissa throughout the morning and who'd known the diminutive woman for most of both their lives, was still more satisfied.

At the age of five, Carissa, the American-born daughter of a Filipina mother and an English father, had been placed by her itinerant, destitute parents under the care of her paternal uncle, the butler and then-guardian of the man who was now watching her with such contentment. The man was barely a teenager at the time and, whether in spite of or in consequence of his own troubles, had readily welcomed Carissa's pure spirit into his family's manor, which, in the years since his parents' violent deaths, had been a grim, desolate place.

He doted on her from the very beginning, insisting that no expense be spared for her accommodations, amusements, and education. And he and their guardian soon had the gratification of seeing her thrive in her new environment, especially where her studies were concerned. In fact, though currently only twenty-two, she'd already completed advanced degrees in both economics and management, and would soon take a position under a Mr. Fox, the business manager of her adoptive sibling's family empire, who would begin grooming her to someday helm that empire as its chief executive officer.

For the past several months, though, one of Carissa's primary focuses had been Lois and Clark's wedding. Indeed, the now-maid of honor had always planned to insist on underwriting the eventual nuptials of the couple he so admired. However, that intention was largely rounded out by the knowledge that his backing would also allow Carissa to propose handling the details with which he knew Lois wanted nothing to do and about which he knew Clark was oblivious. Such was the type of affection that he, no matter his struggles from within or without, had always shown toward the woman he proudly regarded as his sister.

"Well, no excuses next time," demanded Lois, taking Carissa's arm as she replied to her justification. "Either I get invited or I get nine kinds of pissed. Deal?"

"Deal."

Following the brief exchange between the two women, Lois's next order of business was to offer everyone present a proper good-morning and to make her apologies for her tardiness. The wedding staff, constrained by the reality that the bride was ultimately their client, simply smiled and nodded in acceptance. But, as for the wedding party itself, most of them responded to Lois's earnest civilities with a round of groans and gibes.

"Ah, get over yourself; no one even noticed you were gone," retorted Jimmy. "Except for the chief, of course, but that's only because you bailed before the Lanes and company got here, and he hated having to keep the conversation casual with that many high-profile types."

"What, he couldn't land a sit-down with Madam Secretary?"

"Not for lack of trying," grumbled Perry.

Lois could only shake her head in amusement. "What did you expect, Chief? The Administration's in an election year; she _can't_ talk to you. Gammy might've, though. You wouldn't have gotten her on the record, but she digs old-school newshounds and, even a decade-plus into retirement, she's still in on all the latest dish from the Hill."

"You have got to be kidding me. That is just the sort of tip I could've used out of you yesterday! But thanks to your chronic inability to stay put for five consecutive minutes -"

Martha, placing a quieting hand on Perry's shoulder, intervened by saying she was certain the persons Carissa and Ace had gathered would like to return to their supervisory duties as soon as possible. The members of the group maintained that there was no rush, but Carissa nonetheless took Martha's cue and began reintroducing them to Lois.

The accomplished assembly, dubbed "the dream team" by the bride, comprised the occasion's wedding planner, party planner, head photographer, head videographer, interior designer, floral designer, executive chef, executive pastry chef, music director, and head of security, as well as Centennial Park's president of operations and the hotel's special events coordinator, general manager, and president. At some point over the last several months, Lois had met them all, either in person or by phone. But, as both Clark and Carissa had endeavored to keep the bride-to-be at as far a remove from the technical aspects of the event as possible, all of those meetings, save the cake and menu consultations, had been brief and forgettable.

Still, Lois wanted to convey her gratitude to the team before the weekend kicked off. And although her lateness the day before had pushed back her opportunity to get reacquainted with one and all, the pleasantries that followed Carissa's prompting came off as well as they would've had they occurred at their originally intended time.

As the members of the team with business outside the hall soon afterward departed, whispering amongst themselves about their relief in working for a low-maintenance couple, Lois happened to briefly catch Clark's eye. He was tenderly observing her, appreciating her efforts in acknowledging all those who were making their weekend happen.

Following that moment, Lois turned her attention to the inner circle, asking, "So how was breakfast?"

As several respondents began raving about the fare prepared by the maid of honor's private chef and sous chef, who'd made the trip with their employer and were to remain at the wedding party's disposal throughout the weekend, Clark intuited, "You haven't eaten anything yet, have you?"

His comment was hardly a question. By simply focusing on Lois and wondering about her present state, he could sense any manner of her distress or dissatisfaction, whether it take the form of hunger, fatigue, fear, or pain. Thus, given the futility of denial, his fiancée admitted to having cut things too close that morning to worry about putting something on her stomach.

For once, though, Clark didn't fuss; he meant to let his mother or the bride's godmother, with whom Lois would be far more cooperative, do that. But before either woman could pronounce her concern, Page dutifully stepped forward and asked Lois what she'd like him to have prepared for her.

"Actually, I'd kill for a mimosa."

"Seconded," interjected Dinah, who'd just returned with Moira from situating Lois's belongings.

While the bride and her bridesmaid shared a laugh, Clark requested what had been Lois's preferred on-the-go breakfast for the past few months: granola and a green smoothie.

As was to be expected, the mere mention of food had piqued Bart's near-insatiable appetite, inciting him to sneak over toward Clark and to casually slip the tin he'd been holding out of his hands. Clark, busy making Lois's order, didn't take notice of the person making off with his gift. But Lois did.

"I'm looking right at you, Frodo," she said, letting go of Carissa's arm and pursuing the thief.

Speedily ducking behind Clark's broad body, Bart retorted, "Take a chill pill, Lane. And quit calling me that stupid name."

"Grow a few inches and I'll think about it."

"I'm fun size and I've never had any complaints," he asserted, while opening the tin. "And what's your problem, anyway? You steal his food all the time."

"Not if I gave it to him."

"Whatever."

"Don't 'whatever' me," she said, trying to extend her grasp far enough around Clark to apprehend his groomsman. "And don't you dare lay a finger on -"

It was too late. Bart had discovered that there was indeed something edible inside the container and had begun reaching for one of the treats. "- You really need to mellow out," he told his pursuer, still hiding behind Clark as he crammed an entire oat bar into his mouth. "It's not like he cares. Right, Stretch?"

"Oh, I'm not getting in the middle of this."

Lois looked her betrothed up and down, pointing out his positioning between herself and Bart, and asked, "Seriously?"

He only laughed, prompting every onlooker, save his staid best man, to do the same.

"He's gonna eat 'em all," the bride complained to the groom.

"No, I'm not," countered Bart, sticking a couple of the dozen or so remaining bars into Clark's empty hand and keeping the rest for himself. "And besides, I need the calories more than he does."

Stuart Campbell, though fearing Lois's wrath, felt compelled to defend Bart, and clumsily cut in with, "That's technically true. He does need -"

"- Excuse me, Samwise?" demanded Lois, shooting a glare at Bart's faithful apologist and daring him to repeat himself.

Stuart shrank. But, intent on perking him back up, Bart scurried over to his side and offered him a bar. Lois was just about to object, but Clark assured her that he really didn't mind, and she could only throw up her hands in defeat.

As Stuart then felt free to do so, he accepted the treat, took a bite out of it, and, upon chewing for a few seconds, remarked, "This is pretty good."

"I know, right?" agreed Bart, his mouth full. "Hey, Lane, where'd you get these?"

"A coffee shop," she deadpanned, ignoring the knowing smirks exchanged amongst the bridal party as she made her way between her godmother and her aunt.

"But don't shops usually box or bag stuff?" wondered Stuart, having been restored by Bart's gesture to his typical mirth and curiosity. "I don't think I've ever been to one that -"

Eager to change the subject, Lois interrupted him by asking everyone and no one whether they'd get around to rehearsing at some point before the actual ceremony the following day, to which Perry rejoined that had she arrived on time, they'd already be doing just that.

"Ugh, gimme a break, Chief," the bride huffed, resting her temple on Aimée's shoulder as Moira affectionately stroked her niece's hair. "This place isn't just gi-normous, it's also way too classy for a bunch of signs. I got lost."

Her admission roused another series of laughs and digs, but amidst all the jeering, Carissa asked her whether she could do with a quick turn around the hotel's two main floors. Lois replied with a grateful yes, at which point the wedding planner advanced and suggested that he use the present opportunity to guide the bride and groom through where the next day's affairs would take them.

With that, most of the group dispersed. Stuart returned to his jam session with the piano quintet and was soon followed by Dinah, Jimmy, and Bart - the last of whom briefly lagged behind to add a loaded omelet and two forks to Page's list of orders - as well as the music director and the wedding party's attendants. Meanwhile, the head photographer and the head videographer returned to composing and capturing shots; the interior designer left to check in with her lighting technician; and Martha, Perry, and the wedding's four guests of honor returned to the front of the hall with the ceremony's officiant.

Before Clark headed off to catch up with Lois, Carissa, and the wedding planner, though, he shared in a wordless dialogue with his best man. Knowing her partiality for baked goods, he held out one of his two bars to her. She regarded the offering skeptically, her palate rebelling at the mere thought of anything pre-made and over-processed in a commercial establishment. With a smile, Clark simply shook his head, dispelling her doubts and acknowledging that the item was in fact fresh from his and his intended's home oven. She didn't doubt the reassurance, given that she'd more than once turned up unexpectedly at the couple's home and happened upon Lois preparing some dish or other. Accordingly, the best man accepted the small token of the groom's affection, and then, with an appreciative glance, she departed his company.

The maid of honor watched her go. He'd ambled several strides away to release his body man for the next hour or so. However, his distance and his brief bit of business had in no way and to no degree lessened his awareness of the woman making her way toward the back of the hall and through its open doors.

For a moment, he considered leaving her to her solitude. She would have it so, he well knew. And yet, the ease, the warmth of the exchange in which he'd just watched her take part exacerbated a wound that already cut too deep, too near.

Such a pang could no longer abide disregard.

It demanded to be heeded - even if it could not be healed.


	7. Part One (Friends), Chapter Six

Part One (Friends), Chapter Six

* * *

He followed her onto the balcony adjacent to the hall's lobby. She'd been standing at the railing, gazing out over the gardens, considering whether to acknowledge the man she expected to soon join her.

He lingered near the doorway, both making himself known and conceding his willingness to await her notice.

A moment passed. And then another. And then several more.

She shifted, sighed - and finally condescended.

"Any rite that seeks to bind souls in perpetuity ought be based in coequality, ought comprise gestures that convey balance, reciprocity," she mused, her back still turned to him. "And yet, this culture that imagines itself so superior, so above the antiquated doctrines and mores of other so-called civilizations, cleaves to traditions that revel in disparity, chauvinism.

"Women veiled; women paraded about and handed over as if property; women coveting the forfeit of their identities. Your compatriots may think such indignities slight in comparison to the atrocities visited upon the feminine in other parts of this world. But to argue degrees of subjection is to entirely miss the point: Evil is still evil - no matter how subtle and seemingly benign."

Her gambit may have confounded someone less acquainted with her principles and manners. However, he, who knew her well enough to appreciate that she didn't talk small, didn't mince words, perfectly understood her. By the substance of her thoughts, she'd conveyed not only that which she was disposed to discuss, but also that which she was not. Both stipulations troubled him, but while the latter roused his anger, the former incited his concern. She was displeased, and, no matter their discord, he wished her to be otherwise.

"The groom agrees with the bride's aversion to a veil, given what it suggests," he accordingly said, in an effort to allay the woman's qualms. "He, too, is being accompanied down the aisle. Neither of them is being given away. And she isn't changing her name, nor did he ever expect her to… But then, Kent would've assured you of all that and much more long ago. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so much as attending the ceremony - to say nothing of playing a supporting role in it. I presume, then, that you oppose the manner of my 'compatriots'' nuptials in general, not the present proceedings in particular."

The hostility that'd tinged his concluding remark wasn't lost on her. "Compatriots" - it was a term that alluded as much to his fellow citizens as to the sex to which he was born; and he resented her reminder of the difference, the distance keeping him from her. Nonetheless, she thought with both gratification and regret, he couldn't be unfeeling when it came to her. He couldn't but convey solace when met with her discontent.

Still, she betrayed no hint of having been affected by either his reassurances or his disdain. And as she'd done as much as she was inclined to - deigning to recognize the fact of his presence, although refusing to address its purpose - she remained silent, looking out over the greenery before her and leaving it to him to continue the conversation in which she still wanted no part.

Again, he understood her. Again, he was vexed. But, determined to gain some response from her, he stepped forward a bit and asked after the gift he'd had delivered to her rooms upon her arrival to the hotel.

She hesitated, thinking of the dress she'd hung in her closet without trying on. Months before, Lois and Clark had given their wedding party the freedom to wear formal attire of their own choosing to the eventual ceremony and reception, provided that that attire complement the style and palette they'd chosen for their wedding's décor. The best man, however, had still been loath to trouble herself with finding an appropriate outfit. She casually mentioned as much to Clark, only to learn weeks later that he, unable to resist meddling, passed along her sentiments to the man presently drawing nearer to her. Not surprisingly, that man had then taken it upon himself to commission an ensemble for her. The result was a flawless, floor-sweeping gown made entirely of silk, as he was mindful that she wore only natural fibers.

The gesture was not unfelt. All the same, her ultimate response to his question was curt: "It is lovely. You have my thanks."

"If the fit isn't quite right, there's an especially gifted seamstress around. I could ask her to make the alterations," he rejoined, angling to goad her by alluding to the woman she never openly discussed.

She scoffed at the notion, and replied, "I should not think that would be necessary. Unless you doubt your recollection of my dimensions."

At last, he'd elicited a reaction - a slight, though not insignificant, wavering in her equanimity. But his victory was fleeting, as her retort stirred his memories of days and nights past, and he instinctively lowered his gaze to regard her.

She was a shapely, statuesque woman with wavy, hip-length hair. Her olive complexion marked her Mediterranean extraction, just as her sinewy physique distinguished her warrior lineage. And although she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, her serenity and grace bespoke her thousands of years. Without doubt, hers was an ethereal beauty - one that, unbeknownst to him, had been conjured, not conceived.

His captivation with her had begun at first sight and had only deepened as they grew close. However, despite his grasp of both what initially and what continually drew him to her, he had no more insight into the basis of the mutual passion she'd developed for him than he had into the reasons for her having set that passion aside.

As he came upon her immediate area, a breeze kicked up, flowing through her raven tresses and drifting toward him. He allowed himself a single intake of breath, but found himself regretting even that slight indulgence when the painfully familiar notes of her scent triggered his desire to reach out and embrace her as she'd not permitted him to in far too long. Nevertheless, he knew that even if she were of a mind to grant him such license, she wouldn't do so at present, for she never abided the casual touch of a man, never suffered any open display of his physical affections. She deemed it possessive, and she would be possessed by no man of the world her people had transcended.

And yet, even so immutable a conviction had an exception in the person of one Clark Kent. Where he was concerned, she had no misgivings about exhibiting their bond in the presence of others. He was free to take her hand, wrap his arm around her, hold her for as long as he pleased, which were liberties that Bruce Wayne, no matter the profoundness of his connection to Diana Prince, had never enjoyed.

The thought exasperated him, consuming him with his grievances. And as he reached the railing at which she stood, taking his eyes from her and turning around to face the balcony's entryway, he dryly stated, "You look well, Diana. Your visits home always agree with you."

"I should imagine so." She could sense his anger brimming by the tone of his voice and by his broaching the subject on which she'd never allowed him more than general knowledge.

His arms crossed, thus restraining his hands from committing an offense she would not forgive, he pressed on, "And how is your mother?"

"She thrives, as always."

"Kent speaks highly of her. I take it they formed a rapport."

With a smirk, she broke off a piece of the bar the groom had given her and slid the morsel past her lips. "Indeed, they did. She is fond of him."

He turned his head to direct his gaze at her profile, pausing for a moment before saying in earnest, "I should like to meet her for myself someday."

"She never leaves Themyscira. And scarcely ever are any but innocents permitted into the realm."

Her reply, detached and matter-of-fact, stung him. She'd given him the same explanation over a year ago, when he first began asking for a more complete picture of who she was and where she was from. But she'd made clear that just as the trauma he'd endured at so early an age precluded his admittance into her homeland, the weaknesses to which his gender disposed him rendered her unwilling to accord him a full understanding of that domain itself.

Biting back the frustration he felt, he went on to ask, "Will you invite Kent along with you for the winter solstice as well?"

"More than likely. Not that he needs to be accompanied by a native any more."

"And why is that?"

"The High Coven has granted him a standing right of entry. He may come and go as he pleases when the season is correct and the gateway is open. At any other time, he will require an appropriate escort."

His chest constricted. His jaw clenched. And as he looked away from her once more, he said with no small degree of contempt, "The two of you have grown closer still, it seems."

"Jealousy does not become you, Bruce," she casually stated, pinching off another piece of her bar.

"Am I wrong for wishing a similar intimacy with you?"

"Those of my world would certainly think so."

"They consider Kent a natural match for you, I suppose."

"As it happens, they do not. For unlike your brethren, Kal desires what he has - nothing else. My sisters esteem such integrity; they would never imagine anything for him but the happiness he has chosen."

Provoked by her further allusion to the population with which she associated him and by which she defined him, he returned, "In all fairness, though, the happiness he's chosen… Well, she is exceptional, isn't she?"

Diana, refusing to be goaded, let out a small, wry chuckle, and said, "As we speak of companions, how is your Richard?"

"He's well," Bruce brusquely replied. "Much like your Ms. Trevor, though, he chose to remain home. He sends you his regards, naturally."

"That poor man. His sensibilities are not Stevie's. He endures the terms of your arrangement, whereas she relishes the terms of ours. In time, however, he will come to grips with his need for a more conventional understanding - when he will ask for exactly that which you are incapable of giving."

"Grayson has never been unaware of my limitations or of those of our partnership. Should he someday find himself dissatisfied, then so be it. He is as free to stay as he is to go."

Her comportment changed just slightly, though not imperceptibly. She paused for a moment, shifting, taking a breath; becoming more contemplative, more solemn. Then, in a voice that signified a mind diverted, she mused, "Nothing is so simple where attachments have become investments… He will never leave you. You will never let him go."

Her alteration couldn't but affect him. Thus squaring himself to her side, he stepped forward just a little and set aside his aggression. "Am I to presume that you are above such mortal, such masculine failings?" he asked.

She stiffened and said nothing.

Sharply exhaling, he unfolded his arms and turned to grip the handrail. He was at a loss - past the point of civility, but not so imprudent as to give himself over to spite. It grieved him to have her so near and yet so far, to be in her life and yet apart from it. But to say as much was beyond him. He could, therefore, only bring himself to speak as directly as possible to the state of their affairs, without articulating so much as a word about the effect that state was having on him.

"It's been months, Diana," he said, training his eyes on her profile yet again. "You haven't visited; you won't take my calls. I see you at summits, in the news, or not at all. If you want nothing more to do with me, then I'll respect that. But regardless of whether you intend to make your mind known, at least help me to understand this estrangement. Have I said something? Have I done something?… Or have you simply gone off me?"

Even had she not sensed the person who was approaching the balcony's doorway from inside the lobby, she wouldn't have answered his questions. She'd granted him enough of her notice. She was done talking.

From her continued silence, he grasped her refusal to tolerate him any longer. But as she turned to depart his company, he stepped into her path, obstructing her. She stopped, tensed. And after a moment, he quietly told her, "Despite everything, I had hoped you would come to me last night."

As he'd made his confession, the person she'd sensed appeared in the doorway, but progressed no farther upon distinguishing the twosome standing off on the opposite side of the balcony. For a moment, Diana caught the shrewd eye of the individual who Bruce was too focused on her to notice. Still, she did not scruple to finally look upon him and to make a reply as piercing as her gray-eyed gaze:

"The more fool you."

With that, she quit his side.

He didn't turn to watch her go. He'd borne all the scorn that he was prepared to for the time being.

Besides, his eyes were soon drawn down to the balcony railing, where he found exactly half of her baked confection centered atop a napkin.

Left behind, perhaps.

Left for him, more likely.


	8. Part One (Friends), Chapter Seven

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER SEVEN

* * *

Although Dinah, Jimmy, and Bart had had every intention of participating in the ceremony, none of them regretted being spared the trouble of timing his or her steps, taking care to not stumble, and resisting the urge to scratch, shift, or sneeze for the duration of the following day's proceedings.

Their good fortune originated from the fact that two of Lois's bridesmaids had lately decided against attending the occasion. Had Kara Zor-El, the only missing member of the groom's party, been able to arrive before Saturday, then it would've been easy enough for Carissa to stand in for her and for Friday's rehearsal to proceed as planned. But with Lucy Lane and Oliver Queen, both of whom were still listed as bridesmaids on all of the wedding's literature, absent for the duration of the event, Bart and Kara were to be left without their respective partners.

"Can we just sit with everyone else, then?" Bart had thus interjected, shoving his spare fork into Stuart's hand as the wedding planner discussed alternatives for balancing the procession. "We probably wouldn't be able to see anything over Diana, anyway."

Neither Lois nor Clark had objected to the idea, and, after sharing a couple sidelong glances and an unspoken discourse, they'd turned to Dinah and Jimmy. "Would you rather just watch, too?" Lois had asked, speaking for both herself and her fiancé.

The potential pair initially resisted the bride's offer, but then relented when the groom reminded them that he and Lois were happy to streamline the ceremony as much as possible.

"In that case, I'll do anything I can to keep Lane from getting restless up there," replied Dinah, virgin mimosa in hand. "God knows, she won't make it more than twenty minutes without squirming."

As a round of snickers followed Dinah's remark, Lois insisted, "I'm standing right here, people. Right here."

Jimmy laughed harder still, but did subsequently reiterate that he didn't mind being relegated to the front row. "It'll free me up to take more candids," he'd reasoned, gesturing to the camera he was never without.

With that alteration settled and at least three minds put at ease, the wedding planner began going over the main points of the ceremony, while Stuart, chewing on an obligatory mouthful of Bart's omelet, grabbed his acoustic guitar and went to rejoin the other musicians. Shortly afterward, the planner situated the officiant on the dais and led the remaining ceremony participants to the lobby.

Once there, the guests of honor, maid of honor, and best man received the instructions for their entrances, while the music director conducted the strings ensemble, pianist, and guest guitarist in playing out the melody she'd composed for the initial procession. However, after the planner had walked Benjamin and Michael and then Aimée and Moira through progressing up the aisle and taking their seats, the succeeding pair declined practicing their march. Diana maintained that as much time as possible should be left for the rest of the rehearsal, to which Bruce nodded in agreement. The excuse was indeed flimsy, but Lois and Clark accepted it, as they knew the alienated twosome would only be put out by linking arms and pretending geniality toward one another before they absolutely had to.

Diana and Bruce thus made their way back to the front of the hall and onto the steps of the dais. Nevertheless, the ostensible grounds for their departure didn't manage to simplify matters for the persons they left behind, who before long found themselves at an impasse.

"I just don't see why I have to go second."

Clark groaned in exasperation with Lois's defiance.

"How about you try making your case instead of pouting?" she returned, crossing her arms and setting her weight on one hip.

The wedding planner wasn't sure of what to say or do. He'd just shown his clients the two vestibules where they would be respectively sequestered before the ceremony, so as to keep them from seeing each other before they intended to. After which, he'd begun to detail their entrances, only to have the bride suggest a change to the format he'd discussed with them and their officiant several weeks ago. A tiff then ensued between the betrotheds. And although the planner would've intervened as mediator, a role he was accustomed to assuming when nuptial stress took its almost inevitable toll on the couples for whom he worked, he wasn't certain of whether the otherwise laidback bride was goading the groom in earnest or in jest. As a result, he could only look on with Martha and Perry.

"Do you seriously even want to go first?" asked Clark, knowing that Lois wouldn't relent until he engaged her.

"Maybe."

"That's not an answer."

She shifted her stance and sipped at her smoothie. "Fine, then. Since it's totally unfair for everyone else to get to see you before I do, I'm going first."

"But what about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

He scoffed, looking to his mother and silently appealing for help, but Martha's amusement prevented her from saying anything on his behalf. In consequence, he was forced to come up with his own reasoning. "I haven't been on a regimen since April and I didn't make my own outfit," he argued after a moment's consideration. "You should go second because you've put in a ton of work and because there's no way I'll be able to follow how breathtaking I know you're going to look."

Two ushers, both of whom would be stationed at the hall's grand entrance the next day, had been standing at a remove. But, upon hearing the groom's sentiments, they drew everyone's notice when they sighed a mutual "Aww."

Lois chuckled, and, addressing the young pair, said, "Oh, he's always like that. But don't be fooled by the sweet talk. He's just angling to get his way."

Clark grumbled, "You're impossible."

"And you're a Neanderthal," she retorted, returning her attention to him.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because you want to flatter me into acting out whatever boyhood fantasy you've got stuck in your head. But it's like Aimée used to say to my mom: 'Sometimes, flattery is just force with a finer face.' And I gotta tell ya', Smallville, if you plan on being some caveman-in-Mr.-Sensitive-clothing from here on out, then we're gonna need to call off the weekend and send everyone home. -"

The wedding planner, having realized by then that the bride was merely ribbing the groom, chuckled along with Martha, Perry, and the other two onlookers as Lois continued.

"- But, then again, maybe you consider this little incident fair warning. Maybe you were totally BS-ing me and Doc Drake during our sessions. Maybe what you really want is some Stepford spouse."

"Yes, Lois," he said, his tone dry. "Months of me insisting on how much your autonomy means to me was all an act. Truth is: The sum total of my expectations are that you quit the _Planet_, give up writing, strap on an apron, and dedicate your life to catering to me."

"Finally, a little bit of honesty! But here's the thing: You're not a moron; you must know that none of that stuff is ever gonna happen. So, I gotta ask, what are the chances of a guy still holding out that kind of hope if he isn't desperately convinced of someone's knack for 'catering' to his… appetites?"

Her retort instantly achieved its goal, coloring his cheeks and embarrassing him into silent surrender. In consolation, Perry gave him a pat on the back and Martha asked Lois if she was done teasing him.

"Yes," she smirked. However, once everyone's eyes were directed away from her, she added at a volume that only Clark could hear, "For now…"


	9. Part One (Friends), Chapter Eight

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER EIGHT

* * *

Lois's mind was elsewhere. She'd been silent for more than sixty successive seconds, her usual limit, and was presently gazing off at nothing while she finished her smoothie and began munching on her bag of granola. Perry, who'd been left alone with her as the ushers slipped away for a quick washroom run and as the wedding planner guided Martha and Clark up the aisle, studied her comportment out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to bother her, but if her thoughts were occupied by what he supposed they might very well be, then he couldn't just leave her to them.

Rather loudly and somewhat awkwardly, he thus cleared his throat, causing Lois to jump at the sudden clamor.

"What the eff, Chief?" she complained, covering her mouth to keep anything within from spewing out. "I nearly choked!"

Having gotten her attention, Perry ignored her irritation and observed, "This is some spot you two picked."

Lois paused, confused as to why her boss, whom she'd always known to be averse to finery and formality, cared enough about the site to compliment it. And she didn't at all temper her incredulity when she replied, "Huh?"

"I'm saying that this place is, uh, you know, impressive. Quite the spot."

His response almost brought her to laughter as she thought of the handful of times he'd felt the need to speak feelingly with her. Such conversations typically began clumsily, with him either making some vaguely relevant comment or relating some vaguely relevant anecdote, before he eventually managed to broach whatever matter was on his mind. At all other times, his advice, his concerns, and even his praises were steeped in sarcasm. She didn't mind, of course. After all, she'd been brought up by a man whose primary means of conveying his affection was through similarly roundabout means: habitual gift-giving.

For that reason, Lois humored Perry's obvious gambit by peering through the double doors before them and glancing at the area into which the entrance led. The hall, along with the grand ballroom, where the wedding's formal dinner reception was to take place, was one of the hotel's marquee event venues. Its color scheme featured cream, with gold and copper accents. Its high ceiling was covered with figural paintings and lined with crystal chandeliers. Along its east wall ran a row of arched, floor-to-ceiling mirrors that added depth and drama to the space, while along its west wall were the balustrade and columns of the recessed terrace. To be sure, with florid, historical detailing throughout, the hall was a work of art in itself, requiring no major modifications for the next day's ceremony beyond a dais, chairs, and floral and lighting arrangements.

Lois accordingly expressed her approval of the setting, stating that it had been an ideal choice as she and Clark wanted to keep their nuptials local and as most other potential sites around the city were too new age.

"And have you seen the way people are doing modern-themed weddings these days?" she went on, wincing in disgust. "It's all loud colors, hard lines, and styling so spare it's practically nonexistent. There's no artistry, no effort. _Vulgaire_, my mom would've called it. But, then, her taste was impeccable. Not that anybody should need de Chevalier blood or an NYU doctorate to recognize coarse and common when it's staring them in the face. I mean, sure, there's nothing wrong with wanting to go contemporary. But if you take that crap too far, you wind up in _Jetsons_ territory. And no sane adult wants to tie the noose in a cartoon."

Perry chuckled, "The knot, you mean."

"What's the difference?"

"Beats me. Ask Kent."

"Like that'd help. It's been eight months and he still thinks this whole thing is a good idea. And you know what? That's his damage. Granted, I can't say I'm too thrilled about hitching myself to a guy who's yet to show a single sign of wising up and running for the hills before five o'clock tomorrow."

With a smirk, Perry replied, "You could always make the call for him."

"And pass up a legally binding all-access pass to that body? I'll be damned."

"Over-share, Lane," he deadpanned, drawing a light laugh from her in response. As she seemed less aloof than before, he then took the opportunity to segue into more pertinent matters. "Anyhow, speaking of bailing…"

"Yeah…?" she asked, sensing his pains in wording his thoughts.

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind getting out of this myself," he said, feigning levity as much as possible. "But, uh… I don't suppose your old man plans on turning up and letting me off the hook."

As she hadn't expected her father's absence to be the subject of her escort's thoughts, it took her a moment to discern not only the basis of Perry's concern for her regarding the matter but also the timing of that concern's articulation. Once she'd settled both, she gave the older man a reassuring nudge with her shoulder, and said to him, "You had fair warning. I told you he wasn't gonna change his mind."

Perry noted the perplexed expression that had accompanied Lois's delay, and when he reconsidered her prior silence, he grasped that she might very well have been seething, not lamenting. As his presumption had thus proved faulty, he was content to not press her on whatever it was that'd begun to rile her the moment she'd been left alone to mull. Laughing off his mistake, he therefore replied, "Well, you could've spared me the false hope had you just bothered to explain why I'd be standing here and he wouldn't."

Perry had a point, Lois realized. Before Clark had departed with Diana on their recent three-week journey, he'd once again reminded Lois to ask their editor-in-chief about participating in their ceremony. Nonetheless, Lois had only remembered to do so two weeks later, while Perry was re-stipulating the sole condition for her impromptu trip to the summit she was determined to investigate. Rather abruptly, she'd cut short his repeated insistence by assuring him of meeting the term and by then making her request. Although baffled, he'd managed enough of an okay for her to thank him and to give him Carissa's personal number, before promising to get to the bottom of the summit scandal and rushing out of his office to catch the first available flight.

Between then and the present, though, Perry had still yet to learn why his involvement in the wedding had been necessary in the first place. In view of that, Lois proceeded to offer him at least some insight into the situation.

"Long story short: The General hates Smallville - Well, okay, not exactly. He thinks he's perfectly respectable and all that, but he hates me with him. He bit the bullet for a while, assuming things would run their course. But then me and Smallville got engaged, and… Basically, The General thinks I'm settling for, and I quote, 'some lowly pissant with no sense of duty,'" she said, matter-of-factly recounting her father's sentiments upon her telling him of her betrothal. "It's no shocker, though. He's a fourth-generation military man; he probably always figured if his firstborn didn't don a uniform herself, she'd at least wind up with somebody in one."

Perry, despite taking issue with anyone who disapproved of the young man for whom he had nothing but respect, contained his indignation and simply said, "But I thought your sister plans on joining up. Add her to all the other Lanes in the services and the family tradition's still going strong, isn't it?"

Lois sighed as she recalled last Thanksgiving. Soon after Aimée and Martha had surprised the scores of guests feasting at the Kent farm by announcing her and Clark's engagement, Lucy declared her intention of enlisting in the Army after completing her law degree at Georgetown University the following spring. The news had disappointed Lois, as she worried that Lucy would be acting almost entirely out of the desire to please their father and to further atone for the adolescent transgressions that nearly destroyed her future. But Lucy had been adamant and Lois had had no choice but to accept her decision, just as Lois had no choice but to accept what she considered to be Lucy's most recent play for their father's affections - declining to attend her only sibling's wedding.

Still, Perry's mention of Lucy's plans couldn't but somewhat alter Lois's mood, and she only nodded in response to his inquiry.

Perry noticed the change in her, but as there was no way for him to smoothly redirect their conversation, he pressed on. "Maybe your dad could cut Kent some slack, then. Of course, I'm not a parent, so I can't say I know where he's coming from. But, even so, it does seem to me like a man should be able to put aside his personal feelings and show for something that's important to his kid."

"The General's not like that," replied Lois, feeling more resignation than regret about her father's inflexibility. "Me and Luce were raised to think for ourselves, make our own choices. And we were also raised to not expect our parents to get behind the decisions they didn't consider to be in our absolute best interests. If this weekend were more about me and less about my relationship, then The General would be here. But it's not, so he isn't."

After a contemplative pause, Perry lowered his voice, saying, "To be fair, kid, as much as you may like a little homespun in your man, the Mr. Nothin'-But-Ordinarys of the world ain't exactly your type. Now, I gather the D.C. nobility that is your paternal side is willing to overlook that, seeing as you're one of the youngest of your generation. As it is, they probably would've accepted any polite, self-sufficient guy you said makes you happy, so long as he swore some blood oath to never shame the House of Lane.

"But as for your Franco family, well, they're far fewer and they're a different kind of protective. Which means someone like your 'godmother' - and, yes, I do use that term loosely; we'll leave it there for now - has way less of an excuse for rationalizing away the likelihood of John Q. Everyman boring you to misery sooner or later. Hell, even for as gracious as Aimée by all accounts is, I reckon she'd be conscientiously objecting right along with your dad if she knew nothing more about Kent and your relationship than he does. Maybe it'd help, then, if your old man just had more of the facts."

Although Perry's awareness of Clark's dual identity had never been openly acknowledged, it was understood by a select number of people, including the members of the newly established Justice League. Lois had long supposed he considered feigned ignorance in the best interest of both Clark and himself. And out of respect for his rationale, she only ever spoke of the secret he kept under rare circumstances such as those of the present, when he himself alluded to it.

"That'd only mean a different and way worse set of problems. It's best I not give him the full story," she accordingly said, thinking of her father's condemnation of vigilantes and distrust of meta-humans and extraterrestrials.

"But you have to wonder whether you still ought to, right? He is your dad, after all."

With a wry laugh, she replied, "You know, Doc Drake tried barking up that same tree. But, fact is, Samuel Johan Lane is a soldier; his priorities are family and country - in that order. Which means that when it comes to a certain super-dude, all of his G.I.-based gripes combined don't compare to his one big paternal grudge. For him, nothing matters more than that The Man of Steel got his daughter run through with some megalomaniac's sword back in his Blur days. You might think that two years would get him off the warpath, but you'd be wrong. 'A father never forgets' - that's what he's always told me and Luce. So, like I explained to Smallville and Doc Drake, trust me when I say that all hell would break loose if my dad ever found out that I plan on spending my life with the same guy whose lies nearly cost me it."

Despite having been flippant with her remarks, Lois could tell by Perry's subtle bristling that she'd struck a sensitive cord. He'd been executive editor at the _Daily_ _Planet _for only a few weeks when the incident that left her bleeding out in the middle of a vacant rooftop occurred. But, unlike those openly privy to Clark's dual identity, Perry had only learned of the circumstances surrounding that incident several months later, when he received from Lois an advance copy of her highly anticipated memoir. By then, his bond with her had been well established, and he'd thus been outraged by the discovery that Clark himself was liable for the near-fatal injury Lois had suffered at the hands of a Kryptonian militant aiming to expose Clark's hypocrisies.

Perry's initial reaction was overcome, though, when he realized that in supporting Lois in painting an honest portrait of her relationship with The Blur, Clark was remaining steadfastly true to the mantle he'd taken up soon after Lois's brush with death. He was holding himself accountable for his actions, his errors. He was allowing the public to regard him as fallible. And, most importantly, he was making the point that he strived to do better, to be better for the sake of one and all, starting with the woman who introduced him to the world.

Thus, in the end, Perry couldn't but esteem Clark all the more, a sentiment that was shared by the tens of millions who knew Clark only by his superhero persona and who soon made Lois's memoir an overnight international bestseller. It therefore confounded and exasperated him to have just heard that the bride's father, who almost certainly would've read his daughter's first book, persisted in his resentments. Lois, regretting the impression she'd given Perry, turned away from the hall and faced the lobby, so as to prevent anyone else from making out the gravity with which she then addressed him.

"Listen, Chief," she said, "I don't want you to think The General's some ogre. He's really not. It's just that…" She trailed off for a few moments, wishing she could convey to him the truth in its entirety. However, the timing of their chat and, moreover, the tenderness of her feelings on the subject weren't conducive to such a disclosure, and she settled for quietly saying, "To be honest, there's more to Daddy not being here than his issues with me and Clark… It's complicated."

To her acknowledgement, Perry only nodded in understanding. His instincts and his knowledge of her told him what she wouldn't bring herself to say. And out of respect for both her and the occasion, he pursued the subject no further.

When Lois started to offer him a smile of gratitude, though, the weight of their exchange began to embarrass him, and he fell back on his sarcasm. "On second thought, maybe your dad's got a point," he said, gesturing toward the far end of the hall. "I mean, just look at Kent. He is _that_ excited about becoming Mr. Lois Lane."

For the second time, Lois humored her escort, turning around to glimpse her fiancé listening intently and cheerfully to the wedding planner's final few pointers for himself and his mother. "I think he looks adorable," she replied.

"I think he looks ridiculous. What kind of rationally thinking adult goes gaga over being ball-and-chained to Uncle Sam? To some absurd practice that government has no business regulating in the first place? If you ask me, the only sensible thing this country has done lately is guarantee everyone the choice of whether to participate in such an ass-backwards institution."

She smirked, "Been waiting to get that off your chest since yesterday, huh?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But Red insists that politics have no place in 'polite conversation,' whatever the hell that is."

"Smallville's been telling me the same thing for years. Mostly, I just ignore him."

Perry enjoyed a laugh at the thought of an adolescent Clark Kent trying to scold a woman who, as a young adult, must've been even less mindful of propriety than she was at present. "My god," he then said, beginning to reminisce, "Kent had such a chip on his shoulder when I first met him."

"Maybe that had something to do with you trying to turn his life inside out at the time."

"Never mind all that," replied Perry, waving off the circumstances of his initial encounter with Clark. "I still had him pegged as naïve, insecure, and self-pitying - a typical teenager, I guess. But, thank god, he's grown out of all that. And he's still every bit the insufferable do-gooder that he was back then."

Lois chuckled; Perry followed suit.

Still, after they'd both taken a few more good-natured gibes at the groom, Perry summoned the nerve for one final bit of earnestness. Just as Lois had done previously, he turned his back to the hall. But, unlike her, his behavior gave away exactly how uncomfortable he was with candid speech. He averted her gaze. He crossed his arms. He shifted to one side and then to the other.

Although amused by his squirming, Lois maintained her staid expression long enough for him to begin mumbling his thoughts.

"Listen, kid," he told her, "Kent's never lacked for decency; his folks made sure of that. Even so, I saw what he and his life were before he'd ever heard the name 'Lois Lane.' And, for my part, there's no way he could've grown into as remarkable a young man as he is without some serious exposure to your kind of influence. Now, by no means do I condone how spectacularly he failed you early on in your relationship, but I am as convinced as you - and Aimée too, I assume - are that he'd never repeat those mistakes, if only because he knows even your sort doesn't forgive twice.

"More to my point, though, Kent sees you for exactly who and what you are. He admires you, he treats you well, and he puts up with only so much of your crap. So, I'm… Well, I'm honored that you want me to, uh, stand up there with you and say my piece about you and him. Especially since… I mean, you and I may not be blood, but I still think of you as -" Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a smile spreading across Lois's face. "Ah, just forget it," he groused, turning back around. "Your drill sergeant's on his way back, anyhow. Don't think I'm not raring to hear all the ways I can foul up one walk and a few lines."

Ignoring his ill temper, Lois looped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Thanks, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, right before the wedding planner came within earshot of them. "Just know that if you ever breathe a word of this conversation, you're fired."


	10. Part One (Friends), Chapter Nine

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER NINE

* * *

Something was up, Lois could tell. Whispers were being exchanged throughout the hall. Mischievous smirks marked the expressions of nearly every person present. Even the wedding planner, who'd jogged back down the aisle to check on something, seemed impishly expectant.

"What the hell is going on?"

Lois turned to a thoroughly unamused Perry, whose question she was surprised to hear. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Well, how would I know?"

"I swear to Bono, Chief," warned Lois, skeptical of his denial, "if you're in on this -"

"- In on what?"

It was too late. The wedding planner returned and, having already given the bride and her escort their initial instructions, ushered them to the spot where they would begin their walk the next day.

Just as the band struck up, playing the final notes to Clark and Martha's processional piece, Lois caught the self-satisfied gaze of her betrothed. He was looking right back at her, not even bothering to mask his anticipation.

The music changed, transitioning into a slow melody that didn't take Lois very long to recognize. She scoffed in indignation, crossing her arms over her chest, and was just about to start protesting when nearly the entire hall suddenly went black and Stuart, an electric guitar hanging in place of his acoustic one, emerged from behind one of the columns up on the terrace. Bathed in spotlight, Stuart began a blaring, up-tempo solo as practically every spectator cheered him on with whistles and applause. When he finished, a bass line kicked up in several speakers and the piano quintet joined the guitarist in his hard rock rendition of a theme song from the film series that Lois loathed.

"Not funny!" shouted Lois, barely able to get her voice to carry over the din of the well-orchestrated gag. "So _not_ funny!"

Every person, save one, ignored her, laughing amongst themselves as previously concealed fog machines began pumping out dramatic billows, accent lights washed the walls with flashing blues and greens, and violet LEDs running along either side of the aisle began flickering in waves, signaling the bride to commence her march.

"Get moving, Lane!" yelled Jimmy.

"Get bent, Olsen!" she yelled back.

Perry, at a loss, demanded an explanation as to the outrageous spectacle he was witnessing.

"It's my nightmare!" Lois told him, having leaned over to his ear so that he could hear her. "My tacky, tween nightmare!"

Just then, Dinah, all grins and giggles, came upon them.

"Let's go, dancing queen!" she urged, taking Lois's arm and pulling her forward. "Your people have been waiting for this all morning! They demand a show!"

The bride responded with a long, dramatic groan as she looked out at the crowd that'd begun chanting her name. The entire production was absurd, extreme. But, given her own penchant for mischief, Lois could be nothing but amused by the practical joke she hadn't seen coming. "You're all gonna pay for this, you know!" she warned Dinah, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Whatever!" the bridesmaid rejoined, before turning to Lois's escort. "Are you joining us?"

Perry, stone-faced, said nothing.

"Killjoy!"

"Spoilsport!"

The unmoved older man ignored the bride's and the bridesmaid's alternate retorts and watched them head off on their boisterous trip down the aisle. The throng of wedding staffers and participants enjoyed every moment, rooting on the characteristically unabashed pair as they began by improvising the craziest moves they could think of. While one twisted, the other twirled; while one shimmied, the other shook. Stuart and his backup could hardly concentrate on their fingering they were laughing so hard.

On the latter leg of their journey, the duo joined in a comic version of the display they'd perfected atop more than one nightclub bar. By the time they neared the dais, though, their own hysterics overtook them and, in an effort to end their show on a high note, they attempted one stunt too many. Dinah turned. Lois dipped. And, having not thought far enough ahead, they instantly threw off each other's center of gravity.

Clark, of course, beat everyone else to the scene and caught the tumbling twosome before they hit the floor. A roar of applause immediately ensued, and as the band played out the finale to their piece, Clark received a pair of kisses from the grateful, still-tickled women in his arms.

"Everybody okay?" he asked, helping them to their feet as he smiled at their exuberance.

"Oh, we're fine," said Dinah, withdrawing from the groom's cheek. "It's just a shame your bride's such a klutz."

Lois scoffed, "Like you helped."

"I was a collegiate gymnast, Lane; my balance is impeccable. Anyway, you should be thanking me for the warm-up. You'll need it for later."

"What's happening later?" asked Clark.

Had he been facing Dinah, he would've seen in her expression that she'd given something away. But as he'd turned his gaze to Lois, who didn't miss a beat in misleading him, he had no reason to second-guess her subsequent explanation: "She means our victory dance for when our soon-to-be-champs run your Cinderella squad off the court tonight."

With that, Lois then grabbed her bridesmaid's hand and led her in taking their bows. After which, everyone turned their attention to the musicians and their director, giving them a hearty ovation for their performance.

When the clamor finally died down and the main lights came back up, Lois pretended to protest against the prank. "For the record: You're all on my list. I hate those movies. I hate those books. I hate that entire franchise -"

"- We know!" insisted several persons at once, cutting short what was sure to be yet another of the bride's rants against the pop culture juggernaut she couldn't escape.

Perry, still confused as to why he hadn't been let in on the plotting, interjected, "Did no one consider warning me about this tomfoolery?"

"Sure, we considered it," said Dinah. "But, due respect, you suck at guile. You would've given away the whole thing."

After a moment's thought, he replied, "Eh, fair enough."

Breaking back in, Lois insisted, "Never mind him. Is anyone gonna tell me what I did to deserve this?"

"CK said he owed you payback for something."

At Jimmy's reply, Lois directed her eyes at Clark. "Oh, really? What was the something?"

"It'll come to you," quipped the groom.

"Before or after you tell me what song I'm really marching in to?"

"Probably before, since your piece is staying top secret until the big moment."

She chuckled, "The song for our first dance too?"

"Yep."

"Just promise me no Pachelbel, no Wagner, and no Bach for the walk. And for the sake of all that's tasteful, please, no boy bands for the dance."

"But I'd hate to have to go back on my word come tomorrow."

Lois simply smiled and shook her head as Clark wrapped an arm around her waist, hugging her. Perry, however, wouldn't be so easily appeased.

"You know, some of us might appreciate a little actual practice, Kent," he complained.

His eyes still on the bride, Clark leaned down to reciprocate the kiss she'd pressed to his cheek several moments ago, saying, "Just follow her lead. I always do."

Both Bart and Stuart made retching sounds upon hearing Clark's sentiment, while Perry, throwing up his hands, appealed to the mother of the groom. "C'mon, Red, talk some sense into your son. I'm getting put on the spot tomorrow and he's too busy wooing to care."

Martha, chuckling at Perry's crabbiness, couldn't bring herself to oppose her son's preoccupation with lavishing affection upon the woman from whom he'd been largely separated for the past month. Fortunately for the irritable escort, though, the inner circle had anticipated his concern. Accordingly, Dinah, who'd volunteered to stand in for Lois, and Stuart, whose classical guitar was central to Lois's processional, led Perry out of the hall in order to help him practice the official march.

The wedding officiant, in his dignified, baritone timbre, then spoke up. "Shall we begin running through the remainder of the ceremony? Or would you two rather we wait for Mr. White to return?" he asked, adjusting the notes in his hands.

Clark looked from the older man to the bride. "Whatever you want."

Lois smirked, "Is that all you're gonna say to me for the next two days?"

"That, and 'I can't believe how lucky I am to be here with you.'"

"Oh, god."

…

It'd been Lois's idea for J'onn J'onzz, as a close friend of Clark's biological parents and as the lifelong guardian of Clark himself, to officiate the wedding. Her suggestion originated from her knowledge that the society into which Clark had been born observed neither public nor private marital rituals and, moreover, deemed wedlock as an obligatory, contractual state. Amongst Kryptonian nobles, including those of the House of El, unions were especially dispassionate, utilized only for the perpetuation of ancestral bloodlines and the preservation of ancestral wealth. Intimacy, whether emotional or physical, served no practical purpose; it was a primitive indulgence to be sought elsewhere - preferably, with lesser races from lesser worlds.

Nevertheless, marriages were amicable by design. Once of age, individuals were scrutinized by artificial intelligences that broke down countless aspects of personality and biology, and, regardless of sex, matched persons based on the probability of a harmonious partnership and an ideal offspring. As Kryptonians had for generations been unable to conceive naturally amongst themselves, genetic material was later taken from united pairs and merged together in state-run facilities, where embryos were engineered and fetuses were attended throughout the gestational period.

Such stoic ideals and compulsory practices couldn't have been more dissimilar to Lois and Clark's shared beliefs about matrimony. Nonetheless, Lois was determined to somehow incorporate her fiancé's native heritage into their ceremony. Accordingly, she proposed early on that J'onn preside. Clark had been entirely enthusiastic about the idea and had readily made the request of his guardian, who, with his late friends in mind, humbly assented.

At present, J'onn, who'd recently been appointed a justice of the peace for the State of Kansas, was describing his opening remarks with the same earnestness that he'd shown in initially agreeing to his role. But despite how endearing Lois found his characteristic gravity, her thoughts for the past several minutes had been occupied with trying to figure out what had instigated the prank to which she'd been subjected a short while ago.

Finally, it came to her.

"Oh, are you kidding me?!" she exclaimed with a laugh, turning to the groom and punching him squarely in the shoulder. "You are such a jerk!"

Clark recoiled a bit and, though laughing along with her, pronounced a clear expression of pain. Of the onlookers sitting and standing about, those privy to Clark's secret didn't think twice about his reaction, as they knew that when it came to those for whom he cared, The Man of Steel was as susceptible as anybody else. For that reason, they were more interested in his subsequent reply to the bride's outburst.

"I told you there'd be consequences," chuckled Clark, rubbing out the throb in his upper arm.

"But who holds a grudge for that long?"

"Someone with a pretty good memory, I'd bet."

Lois ignored Clark's smirking reply and turned to J'onn. "Sorry for interrupting. I always have that sort of knee-jerk reaction to spite."

The officiant smilingly excused her, but before he could resume his descriptions, Jimmy called out from the front row, asking Lois what she'd meant about Clark's grudge. A few others seconded him, and, after receiving a nod from J'onn, Lois satisfied their curiosity.

Clark had volunteered to handle planning the wedding right from the start, explained Lois. But despite Carissa, her assistant, and the team the young coordinator hired seeing to all of the details, Clark found that even general matters required more thought than he'd anticipated - a lesson that came the hard way in his struggles with the save-the-dates.

The basic requirements for the notices had been easy enough for Clark to sort out. Both he and his fiancée desired a summer wedding, and as Lois had been oddly adamant about holding the event over either the last weekend in June or the first weekend in July, the when was quickly settled upon. From there, Clark told the wedding planner of Lois's preferences regarding the venue - indoor, spacious, timeless - and quickly received from him a short list of possible sites. After Clark toured them with Lois and they decided on the most suitable one, he assembled their lengthy list of invitees, forwarded it to Carissa, who was primarily managing guest concerns, and went to consult with the master printer whom the planner had recommended.

"But Mr. 'What's-So-Hard-About-All-This?' assumed he'd just be filling in the blanks for the cards," recounted Lois, laughing over the memory of Clark's obliviousness.

Clark had returned from his meeting in a harried state, with more samples than he cared to go through even at superspeed. He'd been informed in no uncertain terms that save-the-dates, especially those for persons from families as prominent as the de Chevaliers and the Lanes, were crucial in establishing the tone for a couple's nuptials and thus needed to be precisely customized. He'd been pressed on theme, layout, texture, accent, and a host of other particulars about which he knew nothing. Such simply wasn't his forte. Even when the printer requested the most basic of information, a color scheme, he had no response to offer. As it was, the only colors that he generally concerned himself with were the primary hues he wore while flying about in one guise and the neutral tones he wore while walking about in the other. But when it came to what was appropriate for his and his betrothed's wedding, he had no idea.

"And she thought it'd be hilarious to make me come up with something on my own," interjected Clark.

Still chuckling, Lois quipped, "That's because it _was_ hilarious."

"She could've solved my problem in two seconds."

"Which is exactly what I did… eventually."

Clark retaliated against Lois's blasé retort by poking his finger into the ticklish spot on her side, causing her to jump, and took it upon himself to tell the rest of the story.

From the moment they'd gotten engaged, related Clark with feigned annoyance, Lois had insisted that she wouldn't live under the same roof as him until the date for their wedding was set and its notices delivered. But as they were each to move in to their recently finished high-rise home within a couple weeks of his failed meeting with the printer, he figured that she'd relent in her refusal to help him before long. Unfortunately, he underestimated her determination to prove her point.

Two weeks passed, and she still had nothing concrete to say about the color scheme. Initially, he'd tried convincing her that he didn't feel comfortable having the final word on something that was apparently a make-or-break for their occasion, but she'd maintained that she was confident in his decision-making. Having failed in that attempt, he'd then tried offering her suggestions based on images and articles that he found online, but she dismissed every one. Reds and oranges were too menacing. Blues and greens were too chilly. Blacks and browns were too gloomy. Purples and pinks were just plain tacky.

Time and again, he asked her to put him out of his misery. Time and again, she refused, even going so far as to settle most of her belongings into their apartment on their planned move-in day, but to install herself in a hotel until the matter of the save-the-dates was resolved.

Ultimately, their standoff ended a couple days into her hotel stay and for no real reason at all. They were at work and she was on hold with a source when, out of nowhere, she reached over onto his desk and grabbed the binder of wedding information he'd been keeping. He watched her open it, flip to the photos of the venue, and casually mull them for a few moments. Once finished, she scribbled something on a post-it note, stuck the note onto the front of the binder, and handed the binder back to him. Unsure of what to expect, he looked down and read her message:

_Groomzilla -_

_Apricot, peach, champagne, cream._

_ 1) Are they groceries? No, Farmer John. They're colors. _

_2) Why this palette? It's warm, elegant, romantic - that's what I want for us._

_ 3) Am I sure? Yes. Stop nagging me._

_ 4) I want you in the emergency stairwell in ten minutes. _

_- Lois_

One phone call and one tryst later, Clark was scheduling a midday appointment at the print boutique and soon bringing his suddenly obliging fiancée along with him to it. In no time at all, Lois had helped him make their selections and construct their cards - albeit, only after having pulled aside the printer and asked that her pedigree never again be hung over her intended's head. The apologetic artisan subsequently expedited the couple's order, and as Clark was determined to get Lois into their home as soon as possible, he hand-delivered many of their save-the-dates on the very morning they were ready a few days later.

"Whoa," proclaimed Dinah, who'd returned with Perry and Stuart just as the reminiscing had begun. "_That's _why the housewarming was pushed back?"

Clark smirked, "Yep. It was all her fault."

Dinah turned to the bride, chuckling, "Well, then, you absolutely had that stunt coming."

Several persons voiced their agreement at once.

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Lois, trying to get someone in her corner. "I'm not the one who let some little old lady convince me that the world would end if I picked the wrong font. And what was I supposed to do, let him go eight months agonizing over all the stuff he was too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to consider before jumping into the deep end of the wedding planning pool? He needed a reality check."

The bridesmaid shook her head at her friend. "And you needed an excuse to torment him?"

"I never need an excuse for that. But, for the record, I couldn't have been more helpful after the whole save-the-date incident."

With a laugh, Clark interjected, "Only when it came to the food-related stuff."

As it happened, though, Lois's version of events did indeed reflect the truth. Flowers, fabrics, favors - no matter had been difficult for Clark to settle once he had a better idea of what he'd gotten himself into and could finally answer the wedding team and its supporting players on palette and theme. It helped, of course, that Lois was always glad to hear about his progress and to advise him as needed. In the beginning, he'd supposed she was merely humoring him. But as time went by, he'd realized that she simply enjoyed seeing the satisfaction he drew from an undertaking that would only have made her miserable. As a gesture of his appreciation, he accordingly took care to schedule as many menu consultations and cake tastings as possible. For those, she never needed an invitation to accompany him.

Still, the inner circle preferred the account Clark offered, if only for the chance it gave them to volley a round of jeers at the bride.

Amidst the boos and gibes, Lois threw up her hands, remarking, "Why do I bother? Everyone always takes his side."

Had she glanced over Clark's shoulder, though, she would've seen the one person who never joined in mocking her, regardless of how good-natured or well-received that mockery was. At the moment, however, Lois was too focused on Clark's smug expression to notice his best man.

Planting her hands on her hips in pretended indignation, Lois demanded, "You think this is funny?"

"I think this is payback," returned Clark.

"Don't push me, smartass."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll tell everyone why you didn't mention number four from my note."


	11. Part One (Friends), Chapter Ten

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER TEN

* * *

"And when the hell did you think this up?"

"Just last night," said Clark, still flustered as he glanced down at the folded sheet of paper in Lois's grasp. "I was going to tell you."

"Sometime before five o'clock tomorrow, I hope."

He sighed, regretting the lapse that'd led him to his present predicament. Whilst they'd re-rehearsed their entrances, their officiant's greeting, and their escorts' blessings, Lois had frequently been able to move about, even if only in a prescribed manner. But once they'd proceeded to a more thorough discussion of J'onn's remarks, she'd had to remain in one place, which was something she never did do for very long. At some point, she was bound to get fidgety. At some point, she was bound to need a diversion.

He'd felt her part the opening to his pocket and lean closer to him to peer inside. But as he always kept snacks for her on him and as she always went looking for them eventually, he hadn't thought twice - at least, not until it was too late. He'd quickly recoiled the second her fingers pushed aside the folded sheet blocking her view into the rest of the small space. Unfortunately, his doing so piqued her impishness, prompting her to withdraw the page before he could retreat very far. Had he been less frantic in his insistence that she return the item to him, she almost certainly would've cooperated after a brief round of keep-away. But his reaction betrayed not only that she'd chanced upon something of importance, but also that he knew the something wouldn't thrill her.

Hands on hips, she'd asked once and only once what it was that she was holding. He'd paused, readying himself for rebuke, and admitted the truth of what the paper contained.

He could've hoped for less severity to her immediate reaction, but he took comfort in presuming that her annoyance had less to do with the substance of her discovery and more to do with his delay in telling her of it, thus putting her in the position of finding it out for herself. As a result, he resigned himself to what would surely be at least a few more barbs and replied in earnest to her latest remark.

"We hadn't gotten to the part about the vows yet. I was going to ask you about it then."

Crossing her arms, Lois retorted, "Oh, 'ask' me, huh? So this isn't so much a late-breaking bulletin as a lamebrain, last-minute request?"

"Of course it's a request. I wouldn't just -"

"- Renege? Because that's what you're doing." She turned to J'onn and pressed, "He's totally reneging, right? We already settled this. Please, tell me I'm not the only one who remembers that conversation."

J'onn wasn't sure of how to respond. Without doubt, he recalled the afternoon gathering between himself, the intendeds, and the wedding planner, during which the couple conveyed their wishes for the ceremony and gave him the vows they'd composed. But J'onn suspected that to say as much would only exacerbate the situation. Fortunately, however, the groom broke in and saved him from making a reply to the bride.

"Lois, I'm not reneging," Clark quietly told her, moving forward a bit and reaching for her hand. But in spite of his gesture, she took a step back, warding him off. He stopped mid-motion and happened to glance over her shoulder at her maid of honor, whose face reflected what he imagined to be the amused expressions of every other witness to the tiff between himself and his fiancée. Nonetheless, Clark accepted that the misstep he'd taken publicly would have to be atoned for under the same circumstances, and he thus cleared his throat, gathered himself, and articulated at a volume that everyone nearby could make out.

"I haven't forgotten anything. It's just that the closer we get to tomorrow, the more particular I want to be about what I say to you. You know how much you mean to me. How invested I am in you. How committed I am to us. But our ceremony is as much about me swearing to all that in front of you as it is about me swearing to all that in front of everyone who isn't you.

"That said, if you're more comfortable hearing what we've already agreed on, then that's exactly what I'll go with. Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy is my priority. And if I didn't know that you feel the same way when it comes to me, then I would've never even considered bringing this up in the first place. But I was always going to, because you've been telling me for years that if I can't find the right moment to talk to you about stuff, then you'd still rather I speak up at a bad time than never at all. And I'm just trying to respect that. And to apologize for putting off something important… again."

Lois was certain that somewhere in the distance she could hear the swooning sighs of the same two ushers to whom Clark had endeared himself earlier, just as she'd been certain she could hear Clark's declaration melting the smirks of nearly every other onlooker. If only to prove that she could, though, she maintained her professed resistance to his persuasion.

"You can sweet-talk me 'til your cows come home, but I've still got half a mind to toss this," she insisted, holding up the page in her hand. "Late notice should get you an automatic no-go."

"Yeah, but it won't," interjected a snickering voice from one of the front rows. "She'd let him get away with practically anything short of her own murder."

All present slowly turned to regard the least tactful of Clark's groomsmen, who was receiving an elbow from Stuart for disrupting the spat that was taking place up on the dais.

"Ow!" complained Bart, turning to the young man seated next to him. "What was that for?"

Stuart responded by pointing a thumb out in front of them and motioning toward the eyes that were fixed in their direction. Bart looked around, but he couldn't be bothered to care about the scrutiny. "Whatever. History's on my side," he thus said, checking his watch. Upon seeing the time, he dropped his empty plate into Stuart's lap, got to his feet, and, with an assurance that he'd be right back, rushed off.

Stuart, left alone, recoiled into his seat a bit and mouthed a meek "Sorry" in apology for Bart. Lois, perhaps as a gesture of mercy, then returned her attention to Clark and accordingly drew the others' attentions away from Stuart.

"And on top of everything else, you're putting me on the spot," continued the bride, shifting about to stand alongside her maid of honor and leaning her shoulder into his sturdy frame. "Now, I'm gonna have to come up with something, too."

Setting aside Bart's brief interruption, Clark replied, "No, you won't. You can use what we already have. I like those vows."

"So do I."

"So you should use them."

"And sound like I'm spouting boilerplate while you're waxing poetic? Fat chance."

A small smile spread across his lips as he realized she was finally beginning to relent. "This isn't a competition, Lane."

"The hell it's not. But don't worry; I've already got you beat." After loudly clearing her throat, she then professed, "'I, Lois, take you, Clark, to be my lawfully wedded pain in the ass. As mistakes go, I probably couldn't be making a bigger one. But the thing is, you're taller than the average bear and you cast a great shadow. So I guess I'm prepared to put up with you and your many, many faults for all the days of what's bound to be our miserable life. However, please know going in that if I ever manage to find a less annoying shade tree, I won't hesitate to chop you up and use you as fuel in the fire that me and your replacement cuddle up by.' Sound good?"

Chuckling along with the onlookers, Clark stepped toward her, replying, "Sounds perfect." Then, at a whisper, he added, "Except that I was looking forward to you using your real name this one time."

"You of all people do not wanna get into the name issue with me," she told him, offering him back the sheet that had sparked their exchange.

He accepted it from her and started to lean down to touch his lips to hers in thanks. But, refusing to let him make a gesture that would put her in the same smitten state as the ushers, she pressed a hand into his chest, stopping him short.

"Points for effort, though," remarked the maid of honor, verbalizing the bride's thoughts.

Clark lifted his eyes from Lois to the man looming almost protectively at her side. With a wry look, he held Bruce's gaze while slipping his vows into one pocket and producing a small bag of dark-chocolate-covered almonds from another. Delighted, Lois seized the offering from him. Bruce shook his head and smirked, as if to say to Clark, "Well played."

While Lois started in on her almonds, Clark asked J'onn for a private few minutes to share with him what he'd prepared. J'onn agreed and the two men excused themselves from the rest of the crowd, which subsequently broke up for the interval.

Clark had only just descended the dais's handful of steps, though, when he felt his mother's hands grasping his arm and drawing him down to her height. She kissed his cheek and then let him go, after which he, surprised, promptly pulled back to regard her.

"Aw, Mom -" he started to say, upon finding her misty gaze.

"- Never mind me, Honey," she insisted, shooing him away. "Go with J'onn."

Clark hesitated for a moment, but upon receiving a reassuring look from Perry, he simply offered his mother the handkerchief he carried in his back pocket, gave her a quick hug, and left her side.

"For Pete's sake, Red," remarked Perry, once Clark was several strides away, "he gets gushy with her at least once every other minute; you should be used to it by now. Besides, if you can't even make it through one drippy declaration today, how are you gonna hold it together through the entire ceremony tomorrow?"

Martha smiled as she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief that bore her initials. "My only child is getting married. I'm sure no one will mind me shedding a tear or two."

Moira, who'd congregated with the other older adults, stated her agreement with Martha. As it happened, her own only child's brief marriage had been annulled a year prior to her restoration to mental health. Even so, Moira had regretted being absent for the duration of Chloe and Jimmy's romance, but was grateful to Jimmy for braving what Chloe couldn't in spending an emotional day with her going through photos and videos of the couple's young love, courtship, and eventual wedding.

"In that case," retorted Perry, "I'm warning both you ladies that I've never been good with waterworks. So, come tomorrow, do me a favor and plan on directing all overflow at Gentle Ben or Mild Mike here."

The sound of the small group's light laughter filled Clark's ears as he made his way up the aisle with J'onn. He stopped and turned back, however, when he realized that he was unaccompanied by a necessary presence.

Diana had just seated herself in a chair when Clark unexpectedly appeared at her side.

"What are you doing?" he whispered to her, his amusement evident.

Confused by the address, she looked up at him in surprise. "Pardon me?"

"Why aren't you coming?"

"Did you wish me to?" she replied after a moment's contemplation.

Clark smiled, shaking his head at her sincere misunderstanding. "Yes, Diana. You're my best man for a reason. I want you with me as much as possible."

She smirked at his sentiment, uncrossing her legs and standing up. "I told you I would be no good at this," she reminded him.

"And I told you I wouldn't care," he replied, offering her his arm and gesturing up the aisle. "Now, if it's not too much to ask…"

As always, his attentions pleased her. Without hesitation, she therefore took his arm and let him lead her away, chuckling when he began teasing her by re-explaining her role.

At least three pairs of eyes followed the twosome as they departed. Of those three, Lois's were the first to turn away from her fiancé and his companion. With concern, she studied the expression of her maid of honor as he feigned disinterest in the best man receiving and reciprocating the groom's warmth. Before she could pull him aside, though, her bridesmaid pronounced that she hadn't had enough for breakfast and could use a snack.

One of the wedding party's attendants, who wasn't enough acquainted with Dinah to know when she was inventing an excuse, asked the apparently peckish woman whether she'd like something prepared for her. Dinah insisted that there was no need to trouble their chef and that she'd just make a quick run to the hotel's food hall.

"Anybody else want something while we're down there?" Dinah then asked one and all, grabbing the arm of an unsurprised Lois.

A few individuals made small requests, to which both the bride and the bridesmaid nodded in acknowledgement. Rolling her eyes, Lois then allowed Dinah to drag her off for a private chat.

…

"All right, Lane," said Dinah, squaring herself to Lois the moment they were out of the hall and alone in the long gallery adjacent to it. "I'm only gonna ask you this one last time, so speak now or forever hold your peace: Does _that_ really not bother you?"

With a laugh, Lois retorted, "Sounds like somebody's projecting her own issues. Gee, I wonder how she could knock that the hell off. Maybe by sucking it up, making a phone call, and hearing straight from the horse's mouth what I've been trying to tell her for weeks?"

"'Somebody's' issues aren't up for discussion right now. And 'somebody' doesn't give a damn that she's talking to a bride; she'll still ring the bitch's nuptial neck if she doesn't cooperate."

Lois responded with a smirk to Dinah's blunt insistence. Indeed, she'd expect no less from the sharp-tongued, straight-talking woman who'd become one of her closest friends.

Along with nearly all those who were aware of the groom's alien heritage and double identity before his now-fiancée was, Dinah had been not only pleased but also relieved upon learning that Clark intended to finally reveal the truth to Lois. As the child of a vigilante mother and a civil servant father, Dinah knew firsthand how vital openness was for any romance where duality and duplicity were necessarily involved. Thus, out of compassion for both Lois, whom she respected despite their professional rivalry, and Clark, in whom she still believed despite the damage he'd done to his relationship, she offered Lois a more objective ear and a keener insight than anyone else could've provided her in the wake of her revelation.

The two women grew steadily closer from that point onward. They discovered that although their politics differed, they shared similar interests, similar attitudes, and similar notions as to how to have a good time. What's more, as daughters of odd couplings, they knew what it meant to believe as strongly in law and order as in nonconformity and outright revolt.

In view of that, Lois thought with amusement of the ease that now existed where there had once been only hostility between herself and her now-bridesmaid. Dinah, however, failed to appreciate Lois's apparent mirth and demanded that she answer her.

"_That_ really doesn't bother me," chuckled the bride.

Dinah paused for a moment to study her friend, whose expression conveyed that Dinah's concern, while understandable, was also unfounded. To be sure, Lois had long maintained her present stance on the subject of their discussion. Nevertheless, Dinah felt obliged to pursue the matter just a little further before putting it to rest once and for all. "But they're so damn cozy with each other," she thus replied.

Lois laughed harder. "Yeah, they are, and it sounds like I'm not the one who's got a problem with that. What are you, jealous? Smallville hasn't showered you with enough affection lately?"

With a smile, Dinah gave Lois a nudge and remarked, "As a matter of fact, it has been too long since I've been wrapped up in those burly arms. It's as if Sugar enjoys tormenting me between our good-mornings and our good-nights."

"So tell him that. You know how much of a hugger he is."

"I'd have to pry him away from his Amazon first."

"Yeah, somebody's definitely seeing green."

Dinah, setting aside their jest, began to say that no one would fault Lois herself for being that person. But Lois, anticipating her reply, cut her short.

"- C'mon. This is Clark Kent we're talking about," she said, speaking in earnest. "There is no middle ground for him; once he takes even the slightest interest in someone, he goes all the way."

"All the way to some magical land for a pre-honeymoon, apparently."

"She ran that whole thing by me before she ever mentioned it to him," Lois reminded Dinah, alluding to the late-night visit she'd received on the eve of Clark's birthday. "And she did that knowing I'd actually like the idea, if only because it'd get him away from this world for a while. My workaholic mom always said the secret to never being stressed is never waiting until you need a break to take one."

Dinah sighed, "It's still beyond me why you're content to be this laissez-faire about the two of them."

Lois chuckled a bit and shook her head at Dinah's skepticism. "One, seeing as Smallville used to have a god-awful habit of getting attached to self-deluded or self-destructive types, I'm just glad he's finally learned to make friends with people he doesn't have to save all the time, with people who are actually good for him. Two, his relationship with her makes him happy. And the happier he is all around, the better it is for him, for me, for us, -" - lowering her voice momentarily - "- for the world. And three… to be honest, I think it's kind of adorable how moony he gets around her. He wouldn't be the same guy I've known for eight years if he hadn't fallen just as hard for his playmate as he did for his… well, you know, his, uh -"

"- Soul mate?" retorted Dinah.

"Roommate," rejoined Lois.

The two women shared a laugh. Afterward, Dinah plucked one of Lois's almonds from the bag in her hand and tossed it into her own mouth. "All right, Lane. Consider me convinced," she smirked, turning on her heel and starting down the long gallery with her friend.


	12. Part One (Friends), Chapter Eleven

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER ELEVEN

* * *

A couple corridors and a couple turns later, Lois and Dinah boarded an escalator that led down to the concourse level of the hotel, at which point Dinah interjected an arbitrary comment into the chitchat they were sharing. "I guess when you're not dealing with the promiscuous type, you don't have to worry about him muddying platonic waters."

Lois didn't miss a beat; she knew to whom Dinah was referring. "I refuse to believe even Ollie's recent bit of dumbassery has you suddenly counting yourself on Team Worried, seeing as you've never batted an eye when it comes to his friendship with, oh, me of all people."

Dinah scoffed, "Friendship, my ass. Platonic is the distance between black and white, and there is no distance between lovers, former or otherwise. There's only an intersection of gray - a lot of gray in yours and your once-upon-a-time's case, not that that keeps me up nights. And I'm not worried; I'm right."

"That's your temper talking," returned Lois. "Sure, Ollie really screwed the pooch this time, but he didn't do it because he's promiscuous - not when he's spoken for, anyway."

"You sound like my mother."

"I take that as a compliment; Doc Drake's a smart broad."

"Trust me, she knows. But even if I did care more about what he is than I do about what he's done, that wouldn't change the facts: Oliver Jonas Queen is a hypersensitive, syrupy-sweet womanizer. And, so help me, that's the attraction."

To Dinah's frank and yet still affectionate appraisal of the man with whom she'd long been involved, Lois could only smile. Never in the three years since Dinah and Oliver established their relationship had it been conventionally defined. Neither preferred exclusivity, at least in the physical sense. Neither expected that any one person could or should satisfy their every respective desire. Still, they shared something - a bond, an understanding - that kept them devoted to only each other in every other way, something that kept them gravitating back toward one another even when their fiery dynamic occasionally drove them apart for a time.

"You know, I talked to him just last night," said Lois, as she and Dinah got off the escalator and began passing by various boutiques. "He still wants me claiming it's unexpected business that's got him missing all of this. As if everyone with a clue doesn't know the real reason is you two being on the outs."

"I swear, he's such a little kid sometimes; he can't bear looking if he can't touch too. But then, that's the thing about the weaker sex: they never want something more than when they can't have it. Sugar, of course, stands as the lone exception to the rule. Someone might think he wasn't getting a regular taste the way he so obviously craves you every moment of every day. He's so darling about it, though. So… polite."

"Wow, you can't even do a full minute of Ollie-talk without changing the subject?" Lois studied Dinah's profile, but her bridesmaid pointedly ignored her retort. With a laugh, she then asked, "Seriously, though, do you think he'll change his mind? About the buddymoon at least?"

Dinah cut her eyes at the bride. "I think that even if he does, he shouldn't show his face for the same reason the damaged, doe-eyed damsel is dead set against showing hers."

"Oh, god," groaned Lois. "Are me and Smallville the only ones who didn't think this would be an issue? Yes, someone who happens to be one of my exes made the ceremony and someone who happens to be one of his made the guest list. Big damn deal."

Dinah hand-waved Lois's reply, maintaining that the latter invitation had only been a formality in light of the assistance Watchtower occasionally provided the Isis Foundation. "And anyway, I tried convincing you way back when to not appoint Oliver a bridesmaid. Exes are bad luck for nuptials; everybody knows that. You invite them out of common courtesy and they decline out of common sense. No muss, no fuss, no awkwardness. And, fine, the melodramatic man-child may have survived the weekend without a meltdown. But the black widow? That woman can't help but inject poison everywhere she goes."

Lois gave Dinah a look, saying, "You do remember me explaining to you that she and I were never at odds over Smallville? That I don't compete for anything but the front page?"

"That's beside my point."

"Really?" pressed Lois, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Because it's always sounded like the only reason you have a problem with her is for my sake. Which is nuts, since I've never been anything but cordial with her and since she's head-over-heels for her flush philanthropist."

Dinah scoffed and, stopping just outside the entrance to the food hall, crossed her arms and faced her friend. "What do you think the chances are that she's owned up to him about the torch she still carries for Sugar? What do you think the chances are that she's told him thing one about the treacheries and traumas that sent her fleeing abroad and that make her who she is?"

"I don't know," shrugged Lois, opening the swinging glass door for her friend. "And so long as it's not my business, I don't care."

Dinah put off replying for the time being and entered the shoppe that was their destination. Along with the many other specialty establishments on the concourse level, the food hall abounded with patrons. As much a market as an eatery, its aisles and its culinary stations were filled with both gourmets and foodies, the former of whom were in search of produce that was hard to find elsewhere, the latter of whom were indulging in a posh midmorning meal.

Dinah, smiling at and chatting up just the right people, quickly led Lois through navigating the bustle. Having soon reached their final stop, the cheese and charcuterie bar, the bridesmaid made eye contact with one of the attendants, who abandoned the items he'd been prepping and hurried over to serve the fair-haired siren at the far end of the busy counter. Dinah plied the lanky, ponytailed younger man with compliments on his dexterity while he went about assembling her order. Lois looked on, struggling to not laugh.

"Can I get you anything else, ma'am?" he soon asked, placing the last of Dinah's selections into a takeaway container.

Without hesitation, Dinah lowered her voice and requested the young man's name and phone number on her receipt. He tried to remain composed but still blushed in response, his eyes drawn to Dinah's flowing, shoulder-length coif as she ran her fingers through it. Lois turned away to hide her amusement. Her friend, who'd stopped wearing her brunette wig years before and had since grown out her natural blonde, never thought twice about flaunting her golden asset. And Lois never failed to find her always-effective tactic hilarious.

Peering back over her shoulder at the attendant, who'd stepped away to find a pen, Lois whispered to Dinah, "You do realize he's probably still tiptoeing on the jailbait line in about a dozen states?"

"Relax. If he managed to get a job here, he's probably in culinary school or something. He must be at least eighteen."

Lois snickered, "And that still doesn't bother you?"

"It most certainly does not," smiled Dinah, running her eyes over her helper's physique. "One of the best times you can have is a barely legal one. Younger men are so grateful, so malleable, so -"

"- Disposable?"

"Oh, they're disposable at any age. Not that I need to tell that to a fellow man-eater."

With a smirk, the bride returned, "I'm retired."

"You're retir_ing_; nothing's official yet. There's still plenty of time to feed the beast before tomorrow. Any interest?"

"Keep talking like that and I'll make your brother my last meal."

Dinah laughed while her quarry, grinning from ear to ear, quickly returned and rang up both her container and the items in the basket she was carrying. "Are you with the Lane-Kent wedding?" he then asked her, after totaling the purchases.

She answered that she was, to which the young man replied that he only needed to see the identification card she'd been issued at check-in. Dinah, who hadn't planned to use the card that morning, told him that she'd left it up in her rooms and would simply pay for the items herself.

An older woman with the look of a supervisor then stepped forward. "No, miss. That won't be necessary," she insisted. The woman had happened to glance over in the direction of the register just a few moments ago and, having distinguished the person standing alongside the sole object of the attendant's focus, she'd advanced to correct his oversight. Gesturing at Lois, she thus informed him, "This is Ms. Lane - the bride."

The young man quickly and profusely apologized for his mistake. He, as well as every other person working within the hotel, had been instructed to take special care with the wedding guests and participants they'd be encountering through Sunday. Although, even had he not been fixated on Dinah, he still very likely wouldn't have recognized Lois, whose face had become far less identifiable after the frenzy that had followed Clark's debut calmed. Still, he repeated over and again how sorry he was and only ceased after his manager, who'd happened to get a glimpse of the bride and the groom the afternoon before, bagged and handed over Dinah's items, informed her that the charge was taken care of, and wished her a good morning and Lois a congratulations.

"I'd still be grateful for a copy of the receipt, though," said Dinah, looking directly at the attendant. "If it's not too much trouble."

The supervisor obligingly agreed, and while both the bride and the bridesmaid distracted her with idle talk, the attendant quickly produced a copy and discreetly scribbled his personal information onto the back of it. After he'd handed over the small slip, Dinah threw him a wink and departed with her friend.

"You're awful," said Lois, once they were out of the hall.

"Tell me something I don't know," she replied, having slid the receipt into her back pocket. She then promptly returned to the topic they'd previously set aside. "Just so we understand each other: My opinion of Little Miss Damaged has absolutely nothing to do with you. She believes she can be born again to innocence and that sort of self-delusion doesn't fly with me. Because the one thing I have even less patience for than people who lie to loved ones are people who lie to themselves. We are who we are - our dirty laundry especially."

"Says the woman trying to force-feed me a final fling, as if she didn't already get me filthy enough a few months ago," quipped Lois as they boarded the escalator.

Dinah laughed, "Wow, so _not_ the same thing. But since you brought it up, don't pretend like you weren't game for every one of those antics, including the piercings. They didn't end up scarring after you took them out, did they? Probably not. Since I don't doubt Sugar was all over tending the wounds."

"You know, it's the weirdest thing, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" smirked Dinah, quickly retrieving her mobile from her purse. "Well, since you're having trouble remembering you inner wild child, how about we jog your memory with some evidence of the little scamp?"

Lois, seeing that her friend was pulling up video footage that she thought had been destroyed, exclaimed and lunged for her phone.

The evidence to which Dinah was referring had been collected three months ago on the Saturday night of Lois's bridal shower weekend. Lois had insisted as early on as the Thanksgiving before that she didn't want any type of to-do. But the mother of the groom, after discussing the matter with the godmother of the bride, ultimately insisted on taking the lead in coordinating one for her.

Over fifty women, including a number of Lois's colleagues, former neighbors, fellow fantasy football leaguers, and friends from a nearby military base, gathered for the April affair. Lucy and several of her and her sister's paternal relatives flew in from the East Coast; Aimée, Moira, and the two women's respective mothers even flew in from abroad. The attendees spent the whole of that Friday out and about in the city and spent most of that Saturday lounging around at a day spa. Once the pampering sessions were over, Lucy presented Lois with a hand-carved chest. The bride-to-be had only agreed to the gathering on the condition that she wouldn't be showered with anything. However, she didn't at all object upon receiving what she recognized as the first of several traditional gifts in honor of her late mother, who'd passed when her daughters were twelve and eleven.

Having opened the chest that her father had commissioned, Lois found her trousseau. It consisted of an all-white quilt, a collection of linens, and several accessory-type clothing items. The first had been sewn by Lucy; the second, embroidered by Martha; the third, knitted by Aimée, Moira, and their mothers. Lois hugged and thanked them. Lucy, who'd never been quite the seamstress that Lois was, explained that she'd tried her best in making her sister the quilt that their mother couldn't. She even apologized for the mistakes she'd made - the unevenness here, the bunching there - but Lois promised her that the gift was perfect.

After the shower was over, the older women and about half of the invitees departed - at which point, the bachelorette party got underway. It began at a rock concert, for which the ladies had front-row seats and backstage passes, and continued on to an especially debauched night on the town, which was largely directed by the series of dares the women invented for both Lois and themselves. The romp ended a couple hours past sunrise at a diner, where the ladies hung around laughing over their exploits and regretting the prospect of departing each other's company after breakfast. Ultimately, though, Lois's call home to check in put an unexpected and much appreciated end to the ladies' woes.

Clark, antacids and bottles of water in hand, was waiting for the still-intact group of women as they slogged their ways through his and his fiancée's front door a half hour later. Lucy, Dinah, and Carissa were always to have come home with Lois, but upon Clark hearing of Lois's reluctance to see the rest of her companions go, he'd suggested that she simply bring them along, too. After all of the women had showered and changed into either their own pajamas or spare sets of their hosts', they settled into the makeshift infirmary that Clark had already arranged in the living room and they spent all of Sunday on the mend, lazing about under the patient and attentive care of the groom-to-be.

"Ladies," smiled Bruce, having turned around to address the chuckling, tussling twosome he heard entering the long gallery. "May I ask what we're discussing?"

Lois instantly perceived that her maid of honor was simply standing about, not coming from or headed to anywhere. For the moment, though, she kept her observation to herself and allowed Dinah to finally wrestle her phone back from her. As the two women exchanged smirking looks, Dinah put away the video she'd shot during their stop at a body art parlor, the consequences of which Lois had shown Clark soon after she and her guests arrived at their home. He'd hardly known how to react upon seeing the tiny rods pierced through the points of each of her breasts, but the second she also showed him her temporary tattoo, he burst out into a fit of laughter that took some time to subside. She chided him for making fun of her and appealed to him for his help. Once calm enough, he'd promptly assisted her in removing the piercings and treating the punctures they left behind, but he'd taken his time in gauging how long she'd be stuck with his shield airbrushed across her backside.

The maid of honor, who hadn't wished to intrude his presence on the otherwise all-woman bridal weekend, had only heard rumors of how raucous the partying had gotten. As it was, those who'd partaken enjoyed maintaining a veil of secrecy around their hijinks. For that reason, Dinah offered Bruce a pointedly misleading answer in response to his inquiry about her and Lois's topic of conversation.

"Sugar's ex," she said.

Content to go along with her response, Bruce asked, "The one in Amsterdam?"

"The one in denial."

"Would you come off that?" interjected Lois, turning to Dinah. "She's not even here to tell you to shove it."

"Oh, please. Do you seriously think the woman who resorted to some power suit because she couldn't grow a backbone of her own would manage to stand up to someone like me now that she's shed her stolen feathers? I, for one, highly doubt it."

"I give up," replied Lois, rolling her eyes. "Just don't ever expect Smallville to sing along to that tune with you. She was his first love; he'll always have a soft spot for her."

"You mean a blind spot."

Lois narrowed her eyes at Bruce, who'd chuckled a bit at Dinah's retort. Unfazed by her irritation, he simply smiled, asking, "In all fairness, Lola, for whom doesn't Kent have a soft spot?"

Lois threw up her hands and protested that she needed a better bridal party. Both Dinah and Bruce - whose rapport was based as much in their shared circle of friends and allies as in their respective relationships with Dinah's godfather, a Mr. James Gordon - laughed at the bride's peevishness. Ultimately, however, they relented in their teasing and reminded her of their appreciation of their roles.

"In that case, I need a favor," replied Lois, all too happy to avail herself of their indulgence. "Smallville's gonna help me with getting situated up in my room after the rehearsal. I'm thinking we'll be about an hour, so -"

"- 'Getting situated'?" interrupted Dinah, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

Bruce, managing to disregard the bridesmaid's remark, asked Lois, "You're saying that you'd like Rissa and the two of us to avoid the suite for that duration?"

"And to run interference on anyone who may come looking for me or Smallville."

"Mrs. Kent, you mean?"

"Mrs. Kent, I mean."

The three of them enjoyed a light laugh over the bride and the maid of honor's exchange. After which, Dinah mentioned that they should head back into the hall in order to deliver the fare she and Lois had collected.

Lois, though addressing her bridesmaid, turned to Bruce as she said, "You go ahead. We'll be there in a minute."

Dinah, who was shrewd enough to know what it was that Lois wanted to discuss with Bruce, left the pair to their chat and headed for one of the hall entrances. Just as she reached a set of double doors, though, she turned back to Bruce, saying, "Thanks for this, by the way."

He glimpsed at the bag of food items to which she was referring, but he didn't take her meaning. "Pardon?"

Dinah simply shook her head and laughed. "Do you even care about how much of your fortune Carissa's shelling out all because of a crush?"

"Do you honestly suppose I'll answer that question?"

"If it'll get me out of Lane's hair, I suppose you'll do just about anything."

He paused, looking between the two women for a moment, and conceded to Dinah. "What's mine is as good as my Rissa's," he stated. "And I expect her to 'shell out' not one cent less than it takes to content both herself and whomever she may be partial toward."

Dinah glanced at Lois, whose expression conveyed feigned ignorance about the person to whom she and Bruce were referring. With a smirk, she then redirected her gaze at Bruce, telling him, "You take doting to a whole new level."

"A brother's privilege."

To his reply, Dinah simply shook her head and extended a hand toward one of the door handles before her. Just then, however, the counterpart to the door she was preparing to use flew open and Stuart came rushing out. Dinah jumped back in surprise and scolded Stuart for nearly knocking her over. Both Lois and Bruce stood by, watching Stuart offer a harried apology.

In the midst of the fuss, no one noticed Bart turning a corner and sprinting toward them until he arrived at Stuart's side.

"Can you be sorry about whatever you did later?" interrupted Bart, readjusting the balance of the load of items he was carrying. "We gotta go!"

All present peered down at Bart's arms, which were filled with griddles sticks, French toast bites, tater tots, caramel apples, lemonades, and one very large tub of popcorn, all collected across the street at the carnival.

He ignored their stares and pressed Stuart once more. "C'mon! The movie starts in, like, two minutes!"

Incredulous, Stuart held up his phone and replied, "_That's_ what you 9-1-1-ed me for? I thought something happened. I thought you needed Watchtower backup."

"Well, did I say I needed backup or did I just say to meet me outside the hall?" Stuart started to respond, but Bart cut him off. "Look, can you forget about the stupid text and come on? You're the one who actually likes the previews."

At Bart's impatience, Stuart, a small smile having made its way across his face, hurried back into the hall to retrieve his backpack and his guitars, and to excuse himself from joining in with the band for the rest of the rehearsal. Dinah followed in after him, leaving Bart, Lois, and Bruce to themselves. While waiting for Bart's sidekick to return, Lois took a long look at Bart's snacks. "Hey, is that kettle corn?" she soon asked, reaching for the tub.

Bart recoiled. "Back off, Lane! Aren't you fasting or something, anyway?"

"Do I look brideorexic to you?" she snapped, cocking her head at him. "It's a health regimen. Not some wacko crash diet."

"Is there even a difference?"

"I refuse to argue eating habits with a hypermetabolic hobbit."

At that moment, Stuart reappeared, preventing Lois and Bart from exchanging any more barbs. As he stopped to reach for something in his backpack, he hastily told Lois that Clark had just returned to the hall with Diana and J'onn. She hummed an acknowledgment of his message and watched along with the other two onlookers as he produced a pair of curious-looking goggles from his bag.

"What the heck are those?" asked Bart.

Entirely proud of himself, Stuart grinned as he explained, "They're 3-D glasses. Factory made, but I totally suped 'em up. They work with any projected image now. It took me a while, because I had to start by converting the -"

"- Yeah, whatever, whiz," said Bart, whom Stuart's technological spiel had lost before it'd even begun. "Bring the gizmos and let's go!"

Stuart, with hopes that Bart intended to eat most of the snacks, took off after him as he ran down the gallery in the general direction of the hotel's private theatre, where a number of summer blockbusters were being screened throughout the weekend. Bruce observed the energetic pair as they departed. Once they were out of sight, though, he was obliged to direct his attention toward Lois, who, jaw lined and arms crossed, was already looking intently back at him.


	13. Part One (Friends), Chapter Twelve

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER TWELVE

* * *

"What were you doing out here by yourself?" demanded the bride, getting right to her point.

The maid of honor took a breath, looked away. He couldn't bring himself to mislead or evade her in the manner that he would nearly any other person. She knew him too well. He cared for her too deeply.

After a moment or two, Lois took Bruce's silence as all the answer she needed and pressed on. "Can't say I'm shocked. Between your body language and hers, it's pretty clear that your little parley out on the balcony didn't end in a truce. What did she say? Please tell me she didn't finally climb down off her high horse just to keep right on patronizing you."

With a sigh, Bruce found Lois's gaze and replied, "She complimented the gown. Called it 'lovely.'"

"What _else_ did she say?"

"…Nothing unanticipated."

Lois's initial instinct being to rail, she parted her lips and prepared to articulate. However, giving in to that impulse would shift the focus of her and Bruce's discussion from his discontent to her indignation. What's more, the two of them were still very much in public, to which the occasional sounds of footfalls or conversations as individuals ambled through far ends of the gallery attested. Bearing in mind those deterrents, Lois therefore reined in her brimming resentment and instead focused on the concern in which it was based. "Well, are you okay?" she asked Bruce, uncrossing her arms.

He sighed again, stepped forward, and reached for one of her hands. "Lola -"

"- Do not 'Lola' me about this," she warned, despite not withdrawing from him.

Bruce apologized as he took up her hand with both of his and brought it to his chest. Lois silently acknowledged his contrition and, after a pause, he responded to her question both gently and firmly. "I understand that you are concerned for me. But I cannot have this conversation with you. It would be inconsiderate of me to do so, given the occasion."

Lois narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm about two seconds from telling you where to shove your chivalry."

"I've no doubt," said Bruce with a smirk. "Nevertheless, things between Diana and I have been difficult for some time, and I expect that's not going to change at any point in the near future. In view of that, please, don't expend any energy this weekend worrying about or trying to fix something that will still be broken later on. You deserve every bit of the happiness these days can afford. I wouldn't forgive myself for distracting you from a single moment of that."

With a look of resolve, Lois maintained, "What matters to you matters to me. I won't pretend otherwise."

"I'd never ask that of you," he replied, tilting his chin down to press his lips to the back of her hand. "I simply wish you to believe me when I say that you and your nuptials are my priority for the time being. And given that, your attention need not be absorbed by anyone or anything else."

Lois averted his gaze, sharply exhaled, and chewed her lip in thought. What Bruce was insisting upon went against her very nature, as she was certain he was well aware. To be sure, it was all she could do at present to continue distinguishing between her groom's and her maid of honor's relationships with the best man. Where the former dynamic was concerned, she was content; where the latter was concerned, she was decidedly less than. And to muddle those two sentiments would only lead her to interfering where it wasn't her place to do so. Considering that, she forced herself to be rational, if only to keep herself from exacerbating a situation that she knew to be harder for the man before her than he himself would ever admit, even to her.

Turning back to Bruce, Lois thus conveyed a more minor point of apprehension. "I don't wanna see you faking it all weekend just for my sake."

He smiled, "As much as I enjoy your company, I don't anticipate that being an issue."

"In that case, you're shadowing me at least until we leave for the buddymoon. No more wandering off to brood."

"Shall I accompany you and Kent upstairs after the rehearsal, then?"

With a laugh, Lois replied, "Something tells me that's where Smallville draws the experimentation line."

"So how would you prefer I pass the time?" asked Bruce. "I'm sure my Rissa will be taken up with either your memoir or some odd task until you reappear."

"Just stick with Lance. She'll keep you entertained."

"Distracted, you mean?"

"Distracted, I mean."

As Lois slipped her hand away from Bruce's and stretched up onto her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, he welcomed her embrace, circling his arms around her back. It was a consolation, a solace that she sensed he needed. He closed his eyes, letting her warmth transport him from the cares he wished were more trifling than he could bring himself to acknowledge. When she eventually pulled back to touch her lips to his brow, he allowed himself her final gesture of quiet comfort before steadying himself, opening his eyes, and raising a different matter.

"By the way," he told her, "I received a call from our National Security Advisor a little while ago. He told me that he'd be taking care of the bridal party's suite. I tried explaining that that isn't necessary, but he's insisting."

Lois groaned as she lowered herself back onto her heels and immediately reached into her pocket for one of her mobiles. "Did he tell you why he's taking care of it?"

"He only said that he was sending you a message and that he expected to hear from you about it soon."

"Such a wiseass," she muttered, while dialing a cell phone number from memory. "That's the problem with having him as a trustee; he thinks oversight 'til I'm thirty means meddling 'til I'm thirty. Aimée never does this sort of thing."

Bruce stood by in silence as Lois waited for someone to pick up on the other end of her call. She soon got a voicemail prompting and tried another number.

"Hello. Can you put me through to Samuel Lane's office? This is Lois, his daughter," she said, more successful with a landline. "The older one, yeah. Thanks… Hi, Daddy - Wait. Luce? What are you doing there?... That's what his researchers are for, kiss-ass…. Big deal. It's not like you get to follow him into the Sit Room… Yeah, well, that's because the Secretary of Defense likes me better than she likes you… Very funny… No, everything's amazing, but I can't talk right now. Is Daddy there?... What the hell is he doing with my memoir? Doesn't he have more important things to read? Just put him on… Luce, I cannot talk right now. I'll tell you about everything later… Luce… Lucy!... Oh, my god! _Je m'en fous_, Lucienne! _Ta gueule_ and give Daddy the phone!"

Bruce winced a bit as the force of Lois's language struck him as well as her sister. Her means being effective, though, she promptly found herself speaking with the man she'd intended to reach.

"Hi, Daddy… Well, she wouldn't listen to me. Serves her right… But _she_ started it… Yes, Sir… Fine. I'll apologize. Anyway, I guess you pulled up last month's statement sometime this morning, and I -… But -… Because even if this whole four-day production wasn't a gift, I would've just spent my money on it, not hers… Yes, 'hers.' That's how I'm always gonna see it, so I'd rather use it for things she'd want me to have… Well, I'm sorry that the stuff for my workroom doesn't make much of a dent, but seeing as my tree-hugger of a mother hated excess - Why are you laughing?... Really? That's how she felt?… Well, you could've just said so… 'Show, don't tell,' huh? And the best way of doing that is to put a six-figure hole in your pocket at the drop of a hat? My attention isn't _that_ hard to get, you know… Oh, you're hilarious… Yes, I'm listening… Yes, Sir… Yes, Sir… Don't worry, General; I'll find something to splurge on before the weekend's out. I promise… Yes, Sir… Yes, Sir…"

As Lois listened to a few more words from her father, Bruce took the small bag she was still holding out of her hand and, satisfying the sweet tooth he'd earlier indulged with half a blueberry oat bar, helped himself to a few almonds. A brief time later, he observed Lois's earnestness give way when she chuckled upon hearing a particular comment.

"So you basically leaned on the guy?… But he's a professional, General. You don't have to flex your rank and occupation to get him to make sure his employees treat me well. Can't you get censured for that?... Fair enough… No, actually. I haven't even been up to the suite yet. Long story… Aw, Daddy, you didn't have to. What's in it?… Okay, then. I'll call you back after I open it… You, too… Bye."

As Lois ended her call and began typing an obligatory apology text to her sister, she peered up to see Bruce looking at her both amusedly and inquisitively. Informing him of what she supposed him to be wondering about, she accordingly said, "The General sent me a care package. That, and he already put one of his cards on file, so there's no chance of him budging on the suite issue. Oh, and he may or may not have threatened the hotel's majority owner a few days ago."

Bruce only smirked in response.

"What?" demanded Lois.

"Have you forgotten my being fluent in your mother tongue?"

"Of course not, you braggart. What major world language aren't you at least conversant in?"

"Bengali, although I am improving. My original point, however, was that I'd never use such harsh words with my own sister."

Lois hand-waved his remark, took his arm, and led him toward the wall of entrances into the hall. "One: You'd never have to swear at CJ in the first place. Two: You still wouldn't do it even if she gave you every reason to. And three: Trust me, Luce hardly ever cooperates until I resort to certain phrases in our first language. Been that way since we were kids. It doesn't hurt her feelings, though. Just gets her attention."

"If she doesn't mind you swearing at her, then why did she complain to General Lane?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the world's greatest detective?" asked Lois, opening a door. "It's called 'sibling rivalry.' Look it up."

…

By the time Lois flung open the doors to her rooms, Clark had watched her go from smiling to seething. The change had come on slowly enough. She'd returned to the ceremony hall in perfectly high spirits, talking and joking with the man on her arm. Nonetheless, Clark had very soon realized that her cheer wouldn't last.

As Lois had briefly parted ways with Bruce and approached Clark to tease him about his vows, Clark had perceived the maid of honor's cologne overwhelming the bride's natural scent. Although faint and fleeting, the smell was pervasive, emanating from both Lois's skin and clothing in a manner that could only have resulted from an embrace. His curiosity piqued, Clark glanced down into Bruce's hands and discovered Lois's almonds. She never tried to reclaim them from him, and when he eventually offered them back, she insisted that he finish them off. Such an indulgence began to put into context the embrace Clark supposed the two of them to have shared. And from the vigilant eye Lois kept on her maid of honor from that point onward, Clark easily determined the nature of the private moment she must've initiated. Indeed, he himself had once received from her the same gesture for a similar reason.

Lois's concern, however, was seldom inextricable from her anger. In view of that, Clark was unsurprised by her increasing silence through the final round of rehearsal. She was straining to contain herself and to not trouble others, he could tell. And his preoccupation with how upset she was becoming hardly gave him time to hear a brief word from his mother before he followed Lois out of the hall and off to the private elevator that led to the penthouse floor.

With his betrothed too agitated to dig through her purse for the key she'd been issued, Clark had had to use his copy to open the front door to the bridal party's suite. Still unspeaking, Lois had stalked through the marble-floored foyer, turned a corner, and set about looking for the rooms in which she'd been installed. She'd opened the cracked door to one space and found Bruce's belongings throughout. She'd peered into another and found Carissa's effects where Lucy's would've been had she come. And before finally finding the master suite, she'd come across the accommodations that'd been intended for both Dinah and Oliver, but were presently taken by only the former.

Upon closing the doors to Lois's rooms behind them, Clark said to her, "We can talk about this, you know."

"Talk about what?" huffed Lois, making her way down the entry hall, through the bedroom, and toward the walk-through closet. "The fact that your best man is making life miserable for my maid of honor? The hypocrisy of an ambassador for peace refusing to play nice with a guy she's been seeing for, like, five years? Actually, no, I don't wanna talk about that. Let's avoid that subject at all costs."

Clark stopped at the entrance to the closet and leaned against the doorjamb. "It's more complicated than that, Lois."

"The hell it is," she replied, opening various doors as she searched for the safe Carissa had had installed for her. "You stay involved with someone for long enough and that someone is bound to get attached, invested; it's that simple. And if it's also a problem, then the right thing to do is to break things off before they get gooey. But no. The woman whose entire shtick is supposed to be compassion and equality thinks anyone with Y-chromosomes doesn't deserve common courtesy."

"Diana's prejudices aren't necessarily against men; they're against patriarchy," Clark tried to explain, watching as Lois found the safe and began punching the code Carissa had texted to the bridal party into its keypad. "And anyway, I don't doubt that she knew what the right thing to do would've been. I think she just… It doesn't matter, I guess. They're way past that point now."

"Which is exactly the problem. She _still_ won't put him out of his misery."

"It's not like that wouldn't be hard for her. The feelings between them aren't at all one-sided."

As the bride opened the safe and verified that it did indeed contain the jewelry case she'd entrusted to her aunt, she replied, "_Maman_ always said you can't expect what's right to be what's easiest. All you can do is focus on whatever or whoever matters most, and do as best you can by them."

Clark sighed, contemplating his options, as he realized just how tender Lois's feelings on the current topic were becoming, given her referring to her mother by what she'd grown up calling her. His intention had been to explain to Lois the things Diana had asked him to later that night, after the wedding party returned from their planned evening at a nearby sports bar. However, from Lois's present disposition, Clark could see that that conversation would need to come sooner. "Look, I'm not defending her," he thus began, stepping away from the doorjamb. "But I do think that if you knew more about her, you'd get a better sense of where she's coming from with Bruce -"

"- Where she's coming from? You mean that place just high enough for her to look down on all things male?"

"No, that's not what I mean. Listen, the thing is, Diana isn't just some diplomat -"

"- Of course she isn't. She's also an immortal warrior with three thousand years of man-hate under her belt."

"She doesn't hate men," replied Clark, rubbing away the line of frustration that he could feel forming in his brow. "Plenty of men from all over the universe have been invited to visit and even stay in Paradise. It's just that they don't come from a world like this one. As far as the guys from here go -"

Lois scoffed as she began searching the closet spaces for her garment bags. "- Please, spare me the spiel on what Madam Ambassador's customs dictate about her relationships with men from this world. I'm as clear on all that as Bruce is, and I still think it's just a smug excuse for her to keep condescending to him. Besides, it's been a month since I last checked, but I'm pretty sure you're still as male as they come. And yet, she couldn't care less about the line between alliance and attachment with you."

"By virtue of my Kryptonian birth and heritage, I am not, strictly speaking, of this world."

"Is that the same kind of convenient logic she uses to justify bedding practically every woman on this planet, despite the fact that they're on _this_ planet - the one her people were so happy to get the hell away from? I mean, at least she pokes, prods, and passes the men before she'll give them the time of day; that makes sense coming from her. But the women? No inspection needed. Just a nice ass and a decent rack."

Lois's comment brought a smirk to Clark's face, and he returned, "I suspect that has as much to do with her wariness of men in general as with her preference for female company. And in any case, she's… passionate. In Themyscira, that's customary. Believe me, no one there would expect her to compromise so essential an aspect of who she is for relationships that she doesn't intend to last the night."

Lois paused for a moment in consideration of Clark's words. Then, closing the closet in which she'd found her bags, she gave him a look as she started back toward the bedroom. "You know, when you talk about her, you kinda talk like her."

"I do?" he asked, somewhat confounded.

"Oh, yeah. Even more so since you two got back."

Unwilling to let Lois's remark go, Clark wrapped an arm around her stomach just as she passed by him. "Does that bother you?" he pressed, drawing her to him.

His question, low and earnest in her ear, prompted a sigh from her. Although exasperated, she'd intended her statement as a gibe, not a criticism. But given the context of her and her intended's present exchange, Lois understood why Clark would worry that she'd meant more than she had, and she faulted herself for having done with him exactly what she'd feared doing with Bruce earlier. Ridding her voice of sarcasm, she thus looked back to find Clark's eyes and to answer his question. "It was just an observation," she told him. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Are you sure?" asked Clark, lowering his chin to her shoulder. "I mean, granted, I do still agree with letting the public assume whatever it wants to about my persona and hers -"

"- Which was my stroke of genius, thank you very much."

"Yes, it was," he said, smiling a bit and hugging her closer. "All the same, I'm not stupid. I know how she and I can seem to everyone who's not me and her - and I'm not talking about the world at large. What's important to me, though, is that I never put you in a position to feel like one of those people."

"I hear you, Smallville," whispered Lois, nuzzling his cheek. "More importantly, I believe you. That's why I've never been anything less than 'sure' about you and whoever else - including you and your sex-on-a-stick girlfriend."

He chuckled, "You'll let me know if that ever changes, right?"

"The kryptonite-laced bullets will be a dead giveaway, trust me."

Clark laughed at bit more as Lois stepped out of his embrace and walked over to the sitting room open to the opposite side of the bedroom. Having found a letter opener, she began poking holes into the taping holding closed the cardboard box on the sitting room's desk. He could tell by the meticulous packaging that the box was from her father.

After watching Lois maim the box for a few moments, hardly making any real progress in opening it, Clark cleared his throat and attempted to return to the subject from which they'd digressed.

"Lois, about Diana…" he slowly began, trying to find the right words. "She really does have her reasons. Not just when it comes to Bruce, but when it comes to everything about her. And the thing is that those reasons aren't based in what most people think they are, or even in what I thought they were before a month ago. Diana can be distant, arrogant, impossible, I know. But you've seen how she is when she's helping people, or when she's with friends, or when she's just with me. And I think you could make more sense of her extremes, her complexities if you just understood who she really is - what she really is."

Struck by Clark's gravity, Lois forgot her gift and looked up to find him approaching her. "I thought you've just been making excuses for her like always…" she slowly said as she began to understand him. "But you've actually been trying to tell me something about her?"

"Yes. She asked me to."

As Clark removed and set aside his glasses, Lois felt her stomach sink. As it happened, the only other time he'd made that gesture before disclosing something significant on behalf of another, both her perception of and her relationship with the woman who'd sent him had been radically altered. And yet, even as Lois thought in passing of the cousin from whom she'd since become estranged, the present discussion remained her focus and she articulated the foremost thought in her mind: "What about Bruce?"

Resting his hand atop hers, Clark gently replied, "Diana wants me to tell you because of your relationship with me, not in spite of your relationship with him."

"And what if I don't want to know what he doesn't?"

"She'd understand that. But I don't think he would."

With a long exhale, Lois turned away and closed her eyes in contemplation. Diana's actions were always deliberate, of that Lois was certain. But as for the motive behind Diana's unexpected wish of revealing something personal to her of all people, Lois supposed it amounted not to her relationship with Clark, but to Clark himself. Almost certainly, Diana was trying to placate him about their dynamic by conveying through him what she surely could've told her herself. For his sake, then, Lois set aside her initial reluctance and turned back to meet Clark's gaze.

"All right," she then said to him, taking a breath and readying herself. "What the hell is she?"

"…Divine."


	14. Part One (Friends), Chapter Thirteen

PART ONE (FRIENDS), CHAPTER THIRTEEN

* * *

For several moments, she almost believed that she'd misheard him, but the staid expression he maintained soon convinced her that she hadn't. Taken aback, she shifted her stance and tried more than once to form a response. But no words came.

After pausing long enough to clear her throat and re-collect herself, though, Lois did finally manage to squeak a question past her lips. "Exactly how, uh, 'divine' are we talking?"

Clark answered her as directly and concisely as possible. When he finished, she could only shake her head, take a few aimless steps in one direction, and then find the nearest seat. Once settled, she asked him to repeat himself word for word.

Obliging her request, Clark began again, saying, "Diana was never conceived. She was never born. She was never human. Her body was molded from the four elements of Paradise Isle. Her being was sparked and sanctified by the only medium between her world and its celestial plane. Her powers were bestowed by the pantheon that occupies that beyond. She is High Priest, High Champion of Themyscira… And she is heir apparent to the throne."

Lois sat in silence for a few more moments, soon musing aloud, "But all that time you said you spent with her mom… Hippolyta's not just that, then. She's…"

"The queen."

"The _goddess_ queen?"

"Yes," replied Clark, joining Lois on the chaise longue where she was sitting. "As Hippolyta's successor, Diana will be deified herself someday. She'll be endowed with the ability to create and restore life. She'll be granted absolute authority over the elements. She'll become the medium that her mother is now. It's her calling, her destiny. But Hippolyta won't transcend their plane and Diana won't take her place until the last known patriarchal orders in the universe, this world especially, are set right."

Taking her gaze from Clark's, Lois stared off at nothing for a long while. Eventually, something occurred to her and she asked, "Why am I starting to think it's no coincidence that she's exactly as strong as you are?"

Clark acknowledged that the seeming extent of Diana's abilities was indeed by design. "She says that I'm perceived as a, um… a 'masculine ideal,'" he continued, recalling a late-night conversation he'd shared with his best man as they'd drifted along an enchanted river. "And she says that my influence puts me in a position to redefine that ideal, to change the way people relate to each other and to ultimately change the way this world works. That's why she presents herself as my equal; no more, no less. But in truth, she's… I mean, the way she tells it, no higher being is all-knowing or all-powerful; they have strengths, weaknesses, limitations. Still, the very nature of her existence means that she holds sway over the kinds of forces that mortals, even meta-humans and meta-everything-elses, never so much as tap into."

Glancing over at him, Lois asked, "She could wipe the floor with your superpowered ass, is what you're getting at?"

"Pretty much."

With a long exhale, Lois leaned back into the chaise, crossing her arms and legs. Clark sat with her in silence for several subsequent minutes, waiting as she reflected on the woman at issue.

He had known Diana for only an evening before he told Lois of his desire to introduce his now-best man to both her and his mother. The following weekend, Lois found herself lunching at the Kent farm, closely observing the four others with whom she was in company. As she'd expected, Martha was warm and welcoming toward her son's new acquaintance. And as she'd expected, her now-maid of honor occupied himself chiefly with engaging herself and their host. What she hadn't anticipated, though, was Clark and Diana's obvious and open captivation with one another.

The second Bruce and Diana, who'd arrived together, departed, Clark asked Lois and Martha about their impressions of the latter guest. The two women shared just one glance in response to his eager inquiries. Neither of them had seen or heard anything from Diana that gave them pause about his rapidly developing relationship with her. And as Bruce, whose judge of character they knew to be astute, had long maintained ties with her, they felt confident in granting Clark their respective approvals. Clark, of course, was thrilled.

Unlike Martha, however, Lois declined saying anything more of her personal opinion of Diana. It was enough for her that Clark's affection for Diana seemed both mutual and constructive. Beyond that, she'd been content to keep to herself the thoughts that he surely would've found discouraging.

The reconsideration of those unspoken thoughts, supposed Clark, were the focus of Lois's present ruminations. However, as time went by, he saw in his intended's expression not an increasing sense of understanding but a diminishing sense of tolerance. Confused, he leaned forward, placed a hand on her restless knee, and asked her what was on her mind.

"I'm wondering whether Princess Di has let Stevie in on all this," replied Lois, her voice tight, her eyes still forward.

"Of course she has," said Clark, despite being all the more perplexed by her response. "They've been together for the better part of twenty years. Stevie's the only person besides me who Diana's taken home with her."

"Was there a timetable or something to her telling her?"

"I doubt it. I sort of get the impression she told her early on."

"Does Stevie being born sans joystick have anything to do with that?"

Slowly, Clark asked, "Why would it? She's a part of Diana's life; that's why she knows. But I don't understand what you're getting at."

"I'm trying to figure out why Her Highness hasn't explained all this to the person at the other end of her romantic spectrum," said Lois, turning to look pointedly at Clark. "I mean, the woman's a god, a freakin' _god_, in all but name; that's kind of a lot, don't get me wrong. But I've yet to hear that she's, like, forbidden from owning up to what she is. And if that means that the decision to divulge is ultimately hers, then I gotta ask: Why hasn't she told Bruce?"

Clark paused, regretting his assumptions about the line of Lois's thinking. As he perhaps should've anticipated, she didn't regard herself as someone materially affected by what she'd just learned. And as a result, she couldn't but concern herself more with the predicament of another than with her own views and sentiments. He admired that about her - that selflessness, that compassion that he regretted failing to recognize for so many years. Nonetheless, he also knew those qualities inspired in her not only tenderness, and he accordingly braced himself as he reluctantly replied to her question.

"What the hell kind of a reason is that?!" shouted Lois, leaping to her feet upon hearing him. "'Because Bruce _wants_ to know'?! Are you kidding me? Please, tell me you're just making a very unfunny joke. Please, tell me she's not putting him through the wringer just because -"

Clark stood up likewise and, hoping to head off her rant, interrupted her. "- That's just it, though," he calmly insisted. "In her mind, he's doing all of this to himself."

"How exactly? By giving a damn about her in the first place?"

With a sigh, he answered, "By asking for exactly what she's always told him to never expect."

"Things change!" countered Lois, storming off to the other side of the sitting room. "Five years! Five _years_! Do I have to go over this again? Time equals expectation - Actually, screw that! It equals obligation! Once you pass a certain point with someone, you owe it to them to come clean about anything and everything that matters. How you feel. Where you stand. Who you are! Am I the only person who believes that? That you can't just jerk people around? That you can't just shirk responsibility for the feelings you let them stay involved with you long enough to develop? That leaving someone up an emotional creek without a paddle is just _wrong_?!"

Worried by her dismay, Clark stepped into the distance she'd put between them and gently said, "Sweetheart -"

"- Do not 'Sweetheart' me. Not about this."

He halted his forward movement in acknowledgment of her demand. She assumed her characteristic stance of indignation, but didn't say anything more; she was at least willing to hear him out about the reasoning she couldn't at all understand. He availed himself of her restraint for the next minute or so, explaining as best he could why the point of contention between Bruce and Diana did indeed come down to the issue of want. By the time he finished, Lois's entire posture had changed. Her anger had become dejection.

She didn't respond for a long while. She simply stood in silence, hardly moving. When at last she started to speak again, Clark instinctively approached her, only then noticing how wrenched his insides had become as he'd watched her for the past several minutes.

"I can't even imagine what this must be doing to him," she said, her voice quiet and distant. "I mean, to have so much history with someone, to know that whatever problems you have come down to the things you don't know, and to have that someone still refuse to tell you the most basic things - that'd tear me apart. I'd resent myself for staying. I'd resent the person I was with for not letting me go. And it wouldn't matter if I got the truth eventually; I'd never let myself forgive someone for so totally screwing me over and screwing me up in the first place… It's like The General always says: 'You can't build a house on a foundation made of bull, 'cause you'll never escape the smell of shit.'"

As Clark reached the space directly in front of Lois, he replied with regret that he could indeed relate.

She wryly scoffed and, cocking her head at him, grabbed his tie to tug him down to her eyelevel. "You were a needy, naïve teenager too blinded by your own issues to see that you really, really should've cut that poor girl loose," she told him, her gaze fixed on his. "You were _not_ a full-grown adult with thousands of years worth of relationship experience with men, women, and everything-in-betweens from all across the universe."

"…Doesn't excuse my selfishness, my mistakes. Doesn't excuse what I put her through… what I put you through."

"You're right, it doesn't," Lois matter-of-factly replied. "Once upon a time, though, that twenty-twenty hindsight of yours wasn't anywhere near as clear. Fortunately for you and me, you got it fixed before we made it to the point where I was asking and you weren't telling. Otherwise…"

She trailed off, letting Clark draw the conclusion for himself. He gave her a look of understanding and, after a few moments' silence, extended his arms halfway around her back. She let go of his tie and accepted his gesture, closing the remaining distance between them.

Her eyes closed, she relaxed into the comfort of his embrace. He rubbed her back, stroked her hair, and, without a word, conveyed his consolations for her maid of honor's predicament. She drew in a breath, held it for as long as she could, and then exhaled in resignation. As much as she wanted to help, she was in no position to at present. There was, therefore, nothing for her to do but to accept matters in their broken state.

"Things aren't all that bad, Lois," whispered Clark, discerning her thoughts from the inflection of her sigh. "Diana went a very long time giving only so much of herself to this world. But she's invited me into her home, her life. And in a way, she's doing the same thing with you. So just give her time. I think she'll come around with Bruce sooner or later."

Hesitantly, Lois asked, "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that."

Welcoming his assurance, she stretched up farther onto her toes and squeezed him tighter. He reciprocated, holding her more snugly until she eventually began to let him go. Upon lowering herself back onto the carpet, she absently said, "You know, if you're right, then someone ought to light a fire under her ass. She may have forever, but he doesn't."

Clark smiled a bit at her remark as he lifted his hands to cradle and caress her cheeks. "Something tells me fire wouldn't do the trick."

"What with her ass being made out of it?"

Chuckling, he replied, "Is that humor I'm hearing, Ms. Lane? Because an average man might take it to mean you're feeling a little better."

"And what would a super man suppose?"

"Not a thing. He'd remember his dad telling him that a gentleman compliments a woman by trying to understand her mind and that he respects her by never presuming to know it."

A smile stretching across her lips, Lois said, "Wow. Pa Kent really was a lady-killer, huh?"

"Mom always says so," returned Clark, happy to see his betrothed finally cheering up. "All joking aside, though… How are you?"

"Better."

"Good," he sighed, beaming.

Amused by his pronounced response, Lois lightly laughed, "Why so relieved?"

"Why else? There's this sort of important thing going on all around us. And I'm positive that what your maid of honor and my best man want more than anything is for you and me to leave their issues to them and to focus our energies on us, on enjoying our occasion."

Lois regarded him in silence for a long moment. After which, she glanced down at the time on his wristwatch and then behind him at the proximity of her bedroom. "Focus on us, huh?" she asked, her tone dark and meaning distinct as she returned her gaze to his. "…I can do that."

* * *

**Author's Note:** This concludes PART ONE, FRIENDS. Thanks so much to everyone who's made it this far and especially to all those who've been commenting.

For anyone concerned about Diana and Clark, allow me to say I've always considered the characters of Wonder Woman and Superman to share a strong bond, something of a romantic friendship. Yes, "romantic," as in warm, affectionate, devoted. Even so, I've also always considered attempts to pair them in the comics as misguided, because I imagine the characters as having incompatible expectations when it comes to romantic partnerships. Superman seems to prefer the conventional: monogamy, cohabitation, and so on. Wonder Woman strikes me as preferring none of those things. So, in my continuity, Diana and Clark have never been interested in pursuing anything other than friendship with one another.

Up next is PART TWO, LOVERS. Its latter half isn't finished, but I will begin posting what I have completed in the next few days. I'd greatly appreciate any and all feedback on what I've written thus far and any and all ideas/hopes/requests for future chapters.

Cheers!


	15. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter One

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER ONE

* * *

He couldn't help himself, not when she looked at him like that. Those warm, hazel eyes running over him bit by bit, lingering here or there - they made his breaths stagger, his pulse quicken.

His guises had their bearing; she'd told him as much before. The everyman, the superhero, the last son - they mattered. She saw him for them, she saw him despite them, and she wanted him all the same. Whenever, wherever, however. Her longing for him existed both within and without context, perhaps never more so than when his personas converged, forming his complete self when he was alone with her in the haven that was their home. He knew that. He felt that. Just one look from her and nothing was ever truer, purer than not merely the fact of her passions but also the reasons for them.

As the backs of Clark's legs met the side of the bed, though, he was shaken from the trance in which Lois's wandering gaze had fixed him. Uneasily, he cleared his throat and spoke her name in question.

"Hmm?" she absently replied, while stepping out of her shoes.

Her slight, almost ritualistic movement drove him to distraction once more, and he only found his voice again when she began to sit him down. Stammering, he thus said, "Y-You know, I sort of assumed we, uh, wouldn't get much time alone for the next couple days."

With a smirk, she insinuated herself between his knees and reached for the knot of his necktie. "Lucky for us, I don't have your patience."

"…That's just it, though: You may have to."

"Oh, really?" she chuckled, dismissive of his hedged reply. "And why is that?"

"Well, you see, Mom sort of feels that while all the nuptial-related stuff is going on, we shouldn't, uh… well, you know."

Her eyes still focused everywhere but on his, Lois failed to appreciate Clark's gravity. "Very funny. You expect me to believe that Mrs. K., the woman who was so anxious about your hang-ups that she practically tucked you into my bed for as long as it took you to get over them -"

"- Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Clark, abruptly and utterly distracted by what his fiancée was implying. "Mom didn't know about all that. I only told Dad and there's no way he would've…" Clark trailed off as Lois peered up at him, as if to curtail his futile line of thinking. Mortified, he groaned, "He told her? She knew the whole time? The _whole_ time?"

"Why else do you think she was so accommodating once we finally started having sleepovers?"

"I don't know. I mean, practically the first thing she said to me after I told her we'd gotten together was that there were certain things I shouldn't pursue with you until after I told you the truth about me."

Having undone Clark's tie and set it aside, Lois began climbing into his lap. "So in your pretty little head, she was all gung-ho post-reveal because she was proud of you for being the conscientious gentleman she and Mr. K. raised?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, that may have been part of it. But, mostly, it was the other thing."

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do. Remember the off-day we took after your debut? Well, seeing as you ended up stretching two nights at my apartment into five, she figured we were finally making progress. And since she knew you'd get all squirmy if she asked you how things were going, she asked me instead." Lois watched Clark avert her gaze as his cheeks flushed. Giggling at his embarrassment, she tilted her chin down and tauntingly dotted her lips to the side of his face. "C'mon, Smallville, she was just worried about you. She couldn't bear the idea of her darling boy still agonizing over the same stuff that made him such a totally repressed teenager. But, not to fear, I promised her I was taking good care of you… and vice versa -"

"- Okay! Please, stop. I can't hear this," insisted Clark, squeezing his eyes shut and holding up his hands in surrender. "How about we just back up and forget the last sixty seconds?"

In response, Lois draped her arms over his shoulders and, leaning in to capture his lips, quietly replied, "Only if that also means us forgetting the crazy thing you said about waiting."

Although with reluctance, Clark withdrew just slightly from her reach. Lois paused for a moment and then pulled back to regard him. To her vexation, his expression conveyed as much resolve as regret.

"Oh, what the eff?" she loudly complained, shuffling off of him. "It's been a month! We've never even gone a full week before!"

Clark's first instinct was to point out that they could've avoided their present fix had she let him come see her during her recent business trip. As it happened, she'd maintained that she was already pushing her deadline and was too busy for visitors. Still, he knew better than to remind her of that now and, getting to his feet to follow after her, he took a different tack. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. We could make time tomorrow night, maybe. That way, we'd at least be clear of the ceremony and the reception."

"We have an after-party to attend tomorrow night," huffed Lois, pacing about in agitation. "And not to get all schmaltzy, but I hadn't imagined consummating our vows in the VIP room of a nightclub."

"Me neither," replied Clark in earnest.

"Where does that leave us, then? Seeing as we'll be up all Saturday night, I'm gonna need to sleep all Sunday morning, and then we've got guests to send off all Sunday afternoon. So, what, we really are just stuck waiting until we touch down in Nice on Monday?"

"Probably. Possibly. I'm not sure. All I know is that Mom wants me focused on the commitment I'm about to make. She doesn't want me… sidetracked."

Still pacing, Lois took a breath, rubbed her temples, and attempted to think matters through. "You know, what I'm hearing is that Mrs. K. just doesn't want us trivializing the occasion by having at each other like this is any other weekend in our relationship. That's fine. I respect that. I maybe even agree with it a little. So how about we compromise? I'll let you dust off your super-lover routine; you can turn this bedroom into a raging cliché - flowers, candles, bubbly, the works. No sport sex, just drippy lovemaking."

"Well, first: I don't think Mom would make that distinction under these circumstances. And second: Sweetheart, 'not to get all schmaltzy,' but I don't make that distinction under any circumstances; regardless of the when, where, or how, I only ever make love to you."

Refusing to be placated by his sentiment, Lois returned, "And, just so I'm clear, what exactly would Mrs. K. do if the when were now, the where were here, and the how were, say, every which way an hour would allow?"

"Honestly… I think she'd kill me." At his reply, Lois stopped and turned to look at him in disbelief. He shrugged and attempted an explanation. "She and Dad completely lost it when I went through with that ceremony in Las Vegas. They barely even spoke to me for days."

"Well, that's not fair. You were seventeen, single-minded, and, hello, roofied with Red-K."

"Exactly. And if that's how they reacted when my decisions weren't exactly my own, then I really don't wanna find out what Mom would do if I screwed up while in full possession of my faculties."

"So that's what this comes down to, Smallville?" demanded Lois, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're scared of your mommy?"

With a sigh, he admitted, "Actually, when it comes to this sort of thing, I'm terrified of her."

Clark winced and started as the air in the room charged with Lois's ensuing bellow of aggravation. Yelling profanities, all in her first language, she then turned on her heel and stormed away from him. He trailed after her, trying to calm her, but she kept right on raging as she grabbed the box and the letter opener she'd left in the sitting room, and headed back across the bedroom. Speaking over her, he asked her where she was going, to which she spat that she needed a shower, a very cold shower.

His pursuit was halted as she slammed the bathroom door in his face. "Lois, don't be like this," he pleaded.

"_Va te faire foutre!_"

Hanging his head in perfect understanding of her rebuke, he replied, "You know, if you're gonna keep swearing at me, you might as well do it in English."

She accordingly obliged him.

His forehead pressed to the door, Clark listened in silence for the next minute or so as Lois's grumblings echoed off the surfaces in the bathroom. When she finally took a breather, he heard a series of slashes and tears as she began directing her exasperation at the packaging she'd yet to get through. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he tried yet again to calm her, promising that he'd atone for their predicament just as soon as possible.

"Yeah, right," he heard her scoff. "It'd take super-virility _and_ super-stamina to make this up to me. And you've only got the first."

"Low blow, Lane."

"Oh, cry me a river! At least _your_ nether bits are gettin' some kind of attention."

At a loss, Clark dropped his brow into his palm and rubbed away the initial pangs of a headache. Given a few seconds' contemplation, though, he decided on an alternative. "Listen, Lois," he thus began, choosing his words with care. "How about I, uh, take a walk around the floor or something? Leave you alone to… well, you know?"

For a long moment, Clark heard the entirety of the space in which Lois had secluded herself go still. Then, just as he was preparing to say something more, the door suddenly flew open and she exploded out of the bathroom, charging on him.

"Apparently, I didn't spell things out enough for you earlier!" she shouted, poking a finger into his chest as he retreated through the closet and back into the bedroom. "If this were about my libido, I would've asked you for ten minutes in some semipublic corner of the ceremony hall! But I didn't, did I?! I asked you for one whole hour in my very private bedroom! Why?! Because I don't just want you; I happen to miss you too! Is that plain enough?! Do you get it now or do I need to repeat myself in alien?!"

Trapped between Lois and an armoire, Clark parted his lips to speak, but upon realizing what response he was instinctively set to give her, he hesitated.

"Spit it out, Kent," demanded the bride, hands on hips, temper still flared.

He wavered for another beat or two while trying to think of something else to say. His effort failed, however, leaving him with nothing but the thought that had initially come to him. "You miss me?" he accordingly articulated, his voice as tender as the feeling Lois's acknowledgement had affected in him.

Too irritated to form words, Lois rolled her eyes and headed back toward the bathroom. Before she made it even a step, though, a flurry of air swept through her hair and Clark suddenly appeared in front of the closet, blocking her way.

"Move," she ordered.

"Only if you'll be my date for the carnival."

Scoffing, she started to step around him. "Take your girlfriend."

"I'd prefer my roommate," he returned, moving to the side to prevent her.

"Tough. She'd rather stay up here and seethe."

"C'mon, Lois," he pleaded, nearing his wits' end as she pushed past him. "You left before everybody on your dad's side got here yesterday. They can't wait to see you. You don't wanna let 'em down, do you?"

"Nice try, but the Lanes let me get away with everything short of public scandal. Lucy and I are the babies in the family, remember?"

"Okay, still, we're talking about a carnival. You always get a kick out of this sort of thing. Mom's emceeing the eating contests. There's a Kamikaze and an Orbiter. There's even a Tunnel of Love."

"Like hell am I making out with you any time soon."

Having followed behind in his betrothed's footsteps yet again, Clark stopped in the bathroom's open doorway and managed to find some encouragement in Lois having not shut him out a second time. After taking a deep breath, he once more asked her to accompany him.

She sharply exhaled and, turning away from her package, glared at him. "What are we, little kids? I don't wanna go outside and play with you, Smallville. End of story."

In a last-ditch effort, Clark softened his eyes and pouted a bit, saying, "But it'll be fun."

His pathetic expression, amusing in its exaggeration, brought just a hint of a smile to the corners of Lois's mouth. She was determined to stand her ground, however, and thus turned away from him to conceal her visibly waning indignation. "Even if I did wanna go, which I so don't, I can't," she then said. "It's sunny out."

"So what?"

"So we non-superpowered types actually had to work for our nuptial glows, and we non-superpowered types have no intention of ruining our hard-earned results with an unwanted tan."

Clark protested that he had in fact made a decided effort with his appearance, citing the entire day of grooming he'd undergone along with Bart, Stuart, and Jimmy, the last of whom had arranged their salon and spa visit and, refusing to let Clark skate by with merely a haircut, had insisted that he endure in public, at a stranger's hands the types of treatments he only ever truly enjoyed in private, at Lois's hands.

"Oh, big damn deal," retorted the bride, while at last managing to tear through most of the taping holding shut her package. "What agonies did your one little outing with the boys entail exactly? A mani-pedi and a facial? Poor Clark; he suffered so much. No, wait. He didn't. Why? Because he hasn't been deep-cleansed, deep-conditioned, and deep-moisturized for three effing months. I mean, do you have any idea how much it's sucked being pumiced and peeled to within an inch of my life? And don't even get me started on the epic journey that has been my hair -"

A burst of wind abruptly cut Lois short. Turning to the doorway, she saw that the groom had disappeared, leaving only a small sheet of paper on the countertop near where he'd been standing. She walked over to the page, picked it up, and read the message that'd been emblazed onto its surface: "Not an emergency. Keep talking. I'm listening." At that reassurance, she gladly resumed.

When her fiancé returned ten minutes later, he found her seated on her bed, sorting through the various contents of her package and going on about an especially irksome round of hair glossing. Upon hearing the air around her kick up, Lois lifted her gaze to find Clark standing before her, a large round box in his hands.

"Look," she eagerly said to him, forgetting her story and hopping off of the bed. "The General made me a survival kit for the weekend. Isn't it great?"

Taking his eyes from the bride, whose mood had obviously been brightened by her father's gift, Clark surveyed several of the items she'd laid out, which included everything from stain removers to anti-nausea medication to a pair of plush slippers. "He never gets it wrong with you, does he?" replied Clark, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

His despondent inflection struck Lois, and she noticed him awkwardly fidget with the box he was holding. "What's in there?" she pressed.

"It's nothing. Really."

"Is it for me?"

"No."

"Yes, it is. Give it."

After a bit more back and forth, Clark finally surrendered the box to Lois. She opened it and found inside an oversized, floppy-brimmed straw hat. To Clark's relief, she immediately picked it up, thanked him, and hurried over to a mirror to try it on.

"Very chic, Farmer John," complimented Lois. "Did you get any help?"

"I picked out three, then I texted Bruce. He said to go with that one."

"My guys know me so well," she beamed, viewing her reflection from a few different angles. "But what gives? I've already got plenty of hats for the buddymoon."

"This one's for the carnival. So you don't tan."

Rather dramatically, Lois huffed and then squared herself to Clark. "Didn't we already settle this? I'm not going. Besides, Hair and Makeup will have a total bitch-fit if they see me out there."

The room fell silent as the two intendeds stood at an impasse for several moments. In the end, the groom, his mind made up, spoke first.

"All right, Lane," he said with a wicked smirk, "I tried to be nice about this, but -"

"- Don't even think about it," Lois half-smiled, backing away from his advancing form.

He continued after her, casually picking up her purse and shoes. "You're already wearing long sleeves and there are plenty of shade trees," he argued. "Which means the only real reason you won't budge is because you're you. Guess what, though: It doesn't matter. Because whether we do this the easy way or the hard way, you're coming with me."

Lois didn't wait for Clark to make his move, and instead tore down the nearby entryway and out of her rooms.

"Easy it is, then," Clark chuckled to himself, giving Lois a head start before taking off after her.

No sooner had she reached the suite's main foyer than he decelerated out of super-speed and emerged directly before her. She ran into his chest and bounced off of him. He, while ignoring her objections that he'd cheated, caught her as she fell backward. They tussled a bit. But despite Lois managing to wrestle Clark to the floor, her giggles undercut her advantage, allowing him to reverse her hold, lift her up, and toss her over his shoulder.

Still laughing, she told him, "This officially makes you a caveman."

"Do you want me to put you down?"

"Nah," she replied, her eyes on his backside as he carted her out of the suite. "The view's too good from up here."


	16. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Two

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER TWO

* * *

Both the bride and the groom spotted their premarital counselor and her husband from across the hotel lobby. Lois called out to them and, after ending her thank-you phone call with her father, hurried over to greet them.

"_For a young couple, you've been through rather a lot - some of it merely trying, some of it quite literally damaging. Here you sit, however, seemingly none the worse for wear… Even so, a relationship is as much its present as its past. There is no backtracking; there is no starting over from the beginning. There is only moving forward, whether together or apart. You made your choice - each other. And you've since decided on a path toward formalizing that commitment. Before we get into where you are and where you're headed, though, it's imperative that we look back at where you've been. So, tell me, how did you first meet?"_

Clark could perfectly recall the words with which Dr. Dinah Drake had begun their first session. The counseling itself had been Lois's idea; she was no stranger to therapy, as her father had insisted upon it for both her and her sister following their mother's passing. Clark, uncomfortable with the notion of scrutinizing his and his fiancée's relationship with anyone but his fiancée herself, was initially resistant. However, he came around to Lois's way of thinking once she explained her need to approach their prospective marriage with as much reason as emotion, the former of which she felt could be best established with the help of an objective, professional third party. Such circumspection had always been characteristic of her when it came to their relationship. And being that Clark shared the long-term hopes in which that circumspection was founded, he ultimately encouraged her in finding the best psychologist for them.

Lois's short search ended with Dr. Drake, known outside of the office as "Dee," who'd spent over twenty-five years working with members of the Gotham City Police Department and their families. Along with her educational and professional pedigrees came the decisive advantages of her veteran vigilante experience and her knowledge of Clark's superhero identity. Nevertheless, Dee's daughter made a point of cautioning Lois and Clark about their decision.

"Mom's amazing," Dinah had told them, "but that's mostly because she's tough. She's not going to hand-hold you; she's not going to tip-toe around the hard topics. Who you are to her, to me when you're off her couch won't matter. She will tell you if signing and sealing your relationship isn't what's best for it. She will tell you if you're getting into something that's for now or for good. Consider yourselves warned."

As it'd happened, though, Dee's direct, steely approach had suited the couple. For four months, they talked over everything from their views on their history to their plans for their future, from the finer points of their finances to the exact terms of their fidelity. And, in the end, they left Dee's care all the more knowledgeable of each other and all the more confident about the life they'd soon share.

"Well, this is a surprise!" smiled their former counselor, a svelte, shorthaired blonde in her mid-fifties, while returning the hug with which the bride met her. "Dinah told us to not expect you until eleven or so. She said you were taking some time to yourselves."

Lois snickered, "Is that really how she put it?"

"My Tweety Bird? Of course not."

As the two women shared a laugh, Clark, choosing to ignore their suggestive exchange, shook the hand of Lawrence "Larry" Lance, Dee's husband. He was a stocky, strong-jawed brunet, who worked as an assistant chief of police for the same department as his slightly older wife. Clark asked him when they'd arrived and how their trip in had been, to which Larry replied in as few words as possible that they'd been at the hotel for about an hour and that their flight had been both prompt and comfortable. From there, the taciturn man left his spouse to expound upon any further details.

"Where's Danny?" asked Lois, after enjoying a few more pleasantries with the couple.

"Oh, he headed across the street with Tweety a little while ago," replied Dee. "I expect he'll be tagging along with her all weekend. He's like his father: he tends to hover when he's concerned."

"Concerned? Why, over the thing with Ollie? Because Lance isn't exactly curled up in a ball, whining like Patsy Cline. She doesn't have a maudlin bone in her body."

"He knows that. And, despite appearances, he still worries."

"Must be a twin thing."

"Perhaps. Although, I'm fairly certain he's also acting under orders," she replied, glancing pointedly at her husband. "But enough about my brood. You two are doing well, I take it?"

Lois, giving Clark a teasing nudge with her shoulder, replied that they weren't doing quite as well as she'd hoped. "According to someone's mother," she added in a hushed voice, "nuptial goings-on dictate restraint, lest what's meant to be a solemn, cerebral occasion start to resemble every other grope-y, groin-y weekend in our relationship."

Unable to ignore his fiancée's latest taunt, Clark chuckled awkwardly, buried his hands in his pants pockets, and looked to Lois in entreaty. Dee, a keen observer by trade, watched the young couple's wordless ensuing dialogue with wholehearted approval, for as much as their spoken exchanges said of their dynamic, their physical ones were still more telling.

Gaits in sync, they'd entered her office for nearly every one of their sessions with Lois striding ahead of Clark at least a step or two, although never out of his reach. Clark's eyes scarcely ever left Lois as he followed behind, a small smile on his face. Upon having made their ways over to the couch, they each situated themselves in their respective spaces, typically close enough to one another so as to maintain some kind of casual contact with their legs or hands, but never so near as to encroach. Clark would adjust a pillow or a throw blanket for Lois; Lois would offer Clark a bite or a sip of whatever she was snacking on at the time.

Only when the subject of their intimacy arose did their mutual ease with one another waver. On those occasions, Clark tended to withdraw as much as possible from the conversation and to shrink into the nearest corner of the couch, while Lois deliberately exacerbated his mortification by scooting closer to him, resting a hand on top of his thigh, and making some gratuitous remark or other. It'd been an amusing sight, made all the more so by Lois's insistence that Clark wouldn't embarrass nearly so easily at the mere mention of their physical relationship if his attraction to her weren't as acute as Lois once and only once managed to persuade Clark to acknowledge aloud to Dee that it indeed was.

In consequence, Dee smiled knowingly to herself upon witnessing Lois respond to Clark's present discomfort with a coy smirk and a slight touch to the hair combed downed around his ear. Clark predictably recoiled. But Dee, taking pity on him, drew the bride's attention by inquiring about her godmother and her maternal aunt, both of whom Lois had discussed at length during the one-on-one meetings that'd been an integral part of her and her fiancé's counseling as a whole.

"Oh, right!" exclaimed Lois. "You can finally meet my ladies. Come on."

As the bride took Dee's arm and began leading the small party out of the lobby, Clark lagged behind a step or two, availing himself of the reprieve by taking a breath and steadying himself. Larry noticed his doing so and lingered back with him. In his gravelly timbre, Larry then exerted himself long enough to address the harried younger man, saying, "A word of unsolicited advice: The day they can't be bothered to yank your chain anymore is the day they can't be bothered with you at all anymore. If you're as fortunate as I've been, you'll be getting jerked around like that for many years to come."

Clark nodded in thanks and replied with a smile, "That's what I'm hoping for, sir."


	17. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Three

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER THREE

* * *

The carnival was in full swing. Situated in the northwest corner of Centennial Park, a nine-hundred-acre oasis located in the center of Metropolis, it was a private event held for Lois and Clark's wedding. All across its sprawling grounds, frenetic bells and whistles rang out from game booths, while gleeful laughs and squeals resounded from those aboard topsy-turvy rides. There were jesters, magicians, stilt-walkers, and balloon artists, all wandering about in the warm summer air, engaging invitees of every age.

Amongst those invitees present were the bride's and the groom's respective special guests. The former group consisted of several thousand soldiers and their families from Fort Ryan, the nearby Army base where Lois and her father had lived for a couple years during her teens and where she still spent much of her spare time as an adult. The latter group consisted of the several hundred wards of the state who resided in the city's largest children's home, where Clark regularly volunteered as a tutor and a mentor.

Following his debut, Clark had discovered a marked difference in the public's perception of him. As The Blur, an enigmatic specter with no sworn code of ethics and with scarcely any accountability, he'd been little more than his good deeds. However, in taking up his red-and-blue mantle, he'd transcended his acts, becoming a visible, tangible entity who embodied the light toward which all those who believed in him strove. As a result, he'd no longer felt obliged to spend his every spare moment out in the world, bearing his shield. He was free to pursue a richer, more fulfilling life for himself, secure in the knowledge that he was always present in hearts and minds, helping and encouraging those who aspired to be and to do better for both themselves and others.

As a part of his new life, which included having as much time as he pleased for his friends, family, and now-fiancée, Clark had also been able to realize his long-deferred dream of working with children from less fortunate backgrounds. Several months ago, when he'd told his present pupils and mentees of his upcoming nuptials, they'd been ecstatic on his behalf but also disappointed at the prospect of being unable to celebrate with him. Clark, however, promised them that he'd think of a way for them to enjoy the occasion together, and, between him and Carissa, the idea for the carnival had soon been born.

"Mr. Clark! Mr. Clark!" yelled a young boy, spotting the groom the second he passed through a security checkpoint and into the carnival grounds. Several other kids, all of whom were having their faces painted, eagerly echoed the boy's shouts and began calling Clark over. Clark waved back to them and then turned to Lois.

"Go ahead," she chuckled, anticipating his request.

A bright smile on his face, Clark thanked his fiancée and excused himself from Dee and Larry's company. "I'll catch up with you before the eating contests," he then said to Lois, peering around to ensure that none of her paternal relatives were in sight and then leaning down to offer her a quick kiss goodbye.

Lois poked a finger into his chest, keeping him out of reach. "You had your chance, pal."

Too buoyant to mind her denial, Clark only smiled wider, dotted his lips to her cheek instead, and then headed off toward the group of kids. As Lois watched him go, she found herself wondering whether the young acquaintance she'd made earlier that morning had changed her mind about her museum day and was now somewhere in the vicinity. But, doubting that being the case, Lois returned her attention to her remaining companions and resumed their search for her godmother and her aunt.

Aimée and Moira, who'd spent the last little while chatting with Moira's co-parent and one-time lover, Gabriel Sullivan, met Lois over by one of the nurse-staffed resting areas that'd been set up for those needing a break from the breathless activity abounding around them. As the area itself was on the periphery of the carnival grounds, the five who gathered near it were spared shouting in order to hear one another.

Bursting with enthusiasm, the bride threw one arm each around her guests of honor and began introducing them to Dee and especially to Larry, who, as the counseling conversations between Lois and his wife were privileged, had only ever heard cursory mentions of the two women. After gushing over her aunt and allowing her to exchange a few good-natured remarks with the couple, Lois gave her other honored guest a squeeze, saying, "And _this_ is Madame Aimée Moreau, the lovely lady known publicly as my mom's closest friend, the godmother to her two daughters, but known privately as Ella de Chevalier's first and longest love, me and my sister's third parent."

Betraying her natural diffidence, Aimée demurred from the candidness of Lois's descriptions.

"Oh, don't go all closet-y on me," entreated the bride. "It's bad enough that you'll let the small-mindeds of the world assume you were me, Luce, and Chloe's nanny or something. But tap-dancing around the reality of my upbringing when you're dealing with non-judgers who've probably already put the pieces together? That's even worse. Besides, the doc's not some random or some busybody. She's practically family."

Moira, speaking up for her lifelong friend and decades-long living partner, gently said to her niece, "You mustn't discomfit her, my darling."

"Are you channeling your sister or your brother-in-law?"

Moira smirked, "Neither, I should think. But lest it still need be said, Ella would've minced even fewer words than Samuel on this subject."

Lois exhaled a sulking breath, wishing the woman who'd meant so much to her mother were less modest. In her view, if even her father, who'd known the nature of the relationship between Aimée and his eventual wife before he ever began courting the latter, disapproved of Aimée's significance remaining little more than an open secret, then Aimée herself need not be so guarded. Nonetheless, her godmother's reservation was nothing new to her; in fact, it was precisely why she'd been unable to persuade Aimée to act as her escort in the wedding and why she'd then been left to prevail on Perry in lieu of her father. Thus, in acquiescence to Moira's dissuasion, Lois pivoted to a line of conversation with which she knew Aimée would be more comfortable: her profession as a classical portraitist.

For the next few minutes, Lois boasted to Dee and Larry about Aimée's skill and accomplishments while showing them cell phone photos of several of her major works. The last of the paintings, a restrained piece distinct from the elaborate commercial ones preceding it, had been given as a gift to Lucy Lane several years after its composition. It depicted a one-year-old Lois sleepily holding her mother's pregnant belly. Both Dee and Larry smiled over it, the former pronouncing how arresting an image it was.

"Well, I was just the model," replied Lois, peering up at the portrait's author. "Mom was always the muse."

Aimée returned her goddaughter's look of affection and, after a moment, quietly told her, "She still is, _ma chérie_."

With a smile, Lois then began recounting to Dee and Larry how ecstatic a young Lucy had been upon receiving what was still her favorite of the portraits Aimée did of her and her sister through the years. Just as Lois was finishing her story, though, she suddenly found herself being wrapped up and twirled about in a pair of unseen arms. She reflexively shrieked from the surprise. However, as there was only one person who would greet her with such wild exuberance, she was laughing by the time she was set back down.

Asher Lane, although a year older than Lois, was the youngest of her ten paternal first cousins, all of whom were male. He was a jovial extrovert, which was typical of the members of the Lane clan, a prominent, close-knit military and political family rooted mostly in and around Washington, D.C. As Lois was nearer in age to Asher than all their other relations, the two had shared a special bond growing up. And, to be sure, their boisterous greeting to one another recalled their roguish, rough-and-tumble childhood years.

"For god's sake, Ash, you could've just said hello," the bride insisted to her grinning cousin, giving him a shove and then a proper hug. "Were you trying to startle me into a heart attack?"

"And have to answer to Uncle Sam for it? I don't think so."

Upon withdrawing from the bride, Asher directed his attention to their chuckling adult onlookers and apologized for interrupting their chat. As he then continued by introducing himself to Dee and Larry, Lois hugged the three youngsters at his side.

"Where is Mr. Clark? Where is he? Where?" one of them immediately demanded to know, speaking for both herself and her two siblings, all three of whom were the children of another of the bride's first cousins.

Having overheard the girl's question, Asher said to Lois, "Yeah, where is the big fella? All the little guys have been asking for him since first thing this morning."

Lois was unsurprised. Clark's formal introduction to her extended paternal family had taken place just a few months ago, when she brought him, his mother, and his godfathers along to her admiral uncle's retirement ceremonies and ensuing weekend-long celebrations. Up until then, Lois had only ever allowed her sister and her father to meet the men with whom she was involved; although, even that was done entirely out of coercion. As followed, the Lanes had been eager to inspect the civilian whom Lucy glowingly characterized as a sweetheart and whom Samuel, whose consideration for his daughter kept him from ever openly disparaging her fiancé, simply deemed solid.

In meeting Clark for themselves, they found that he made a decent, even if unassuming, appearance. He was well-spoken, well-mannered, and, above all, duly deferential toward those who'd cared for his betrothed her entire life. Still, Lois had yet to receive their official judgment of Clark; it was almost as if her family thought it amusing to leave her wondering for as long as possible. Her only consolation for the present was that Clark had undeniably impressed with how quickly he'd won over the younger Lanes, rocking infants to sleep, corralling rambunctious toddlers, and organizing flag football games for all the others. She was therefore pleased to hear some of those very kids currently inquiring about the groom, and she happily reported that their oversized playmate had been last seen heading for a face-painting tent near the north entrance of the grounds.

"Oh, please, can we go find him?! Please, please, please!" the three children exclaimed, tugging on Asher's arms and springing up and down.

Asher, having volunteered only to take them for a restroom break, replied that he needed to check with their parents before appending their plans. A trio of groans immediately followed. But, speaking over them, Asher said to the four older adults, "I wonder if you'd mind me bringing the bride along with us. She's got a grandma who's planning to muster me and my cousins for an abduction op if she doesn't see her soon."

With gracious nods and replies all around, the four adults excused the band of Lanes.

While Lois then said her goodbyes for the time being, Asher addressed the still grumbling kids with, "Yeah, yeah, your complaints have been heard, understood, and acknowledged. On my honor, we will go find Mr. Clark just as soon as we clear it with your superior officers. Now, ten-hut!"

The three little soldiers moaned and groaned a bit more, but nonetheless stood at attention and joined hands. Upon Asher then taking the empty paw at one end of the line, he looked to Lois to do the same at the other.

"Aren't they, like, sticky or something?" she asked with a grimace.

Asher chuckled, "Guys, tell Cousin Lois to get over herself."

They did just that, provoking the bride to tickle the one who'd chided her the loudest. After which, Lois fell in line and, leaving her honored guests to regale her bridesmaid's parents with more tales from her youth, followed Asher and company off to meet up with their other relatives.

...

No less than two hundred people had been conveyed the afternoon before on chartered flights from Washington, D.C. to Metropolis, Kansas. A few handfuls of them were associates of Martha Kent, who had retired from national politics over a year-and-a-half ago and who was currently seeking appointment to the Board of Commissioners for Lowell County, a district that encompassed Metropolis, Smallville, and a number of other cities. The majority of the travelers, however, comprised members, friends, or close professional acquaintances of the Lane family. Within their ranks were special operatives, commanding officers, and elected officials, the most noted of whom was the family's redoubtable matriarch, a former Congresswoman who'd spent several of her more than thirty years in the United States House of Representatives chairing its most influential committee.

Nevertheless, the three highest profile of the wedding guests out of D.C., two Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defense, had been obliged by their positions to take a military passenger jet into Fort Ryan, thence to the wedding site by motorcade. The chiefs - one of whom was a longtime friend of the bride's Army general father; the other, of the bride's Navy admiral uncle - greeted Lois with customary cheer and warmth. The secretary, however, positively beamed upon finally seeing her favorite of her four brothers' children.

"There you are, gorgeous!" exclaimed Valerie Lane, making her way through the small crowd that'd gathered around to greet the bride as she paid her respects to her grandmother.

Lois turned to welcome her aunt, a stout, stalwart woman, with a hug, and smilingly replied to her immediate claim that she hadn't seen her enough of late. "You're joking, right?" chuckled Lois. "There was the Father's Day cookout in June, Luce's graduation in May, my bridal shower in April, The Admiral's retirement back in March. Is at least that last one ringing a bell? Because it was sort of a huge deal for him, especially seeing as his big sis and his best bud were the ones to pin those nice medals on him. Also, I'm pretty sure Gammy's threat to disown anyone who didn't make it to the estate that weekend applied to even you - her first born and her only daughter."

Both Lois's grandmother and aunt laughed, with the latter replying, "You just made my point for me. A visit every month or so didn't suffice when you were little and it doesn't suffice now."

"Oh, as if! Time was, you were the lead enforcer of Gammy's standing order for all twelve of her grandkids to spend their summers with her, and I don't recall ever once shipping out to the estate without finding you there to help supervise the eight weeks of pandemonium. As for the rest of the year, cut me some slack. I lived in another country; it's not my fault airlines don't sell tickets to minors."

"And your excuse for nowadays?"

"Well, Madam Secretary, you're sort of a busy lady."

"Look who's talking," returned Valerie. Then, leaning in, she added in a hushed voice, "Which reminds me: Off the record, you have the Administration's thanks for your latest bit of intrepid reporting. You saved us quite a headache over that fiasco of a summit."

Lois smiled a bit and almost blushed. For as long as she could remember, her own formidable nature had been rendered somehow less so when met with those of her elder paternal relatives. Perhaps it was her eagerness to make them as proud of her as she was of them that resulted in her deference. But whatever the cause, it prompted her to reply to her aunt's praise by simply saying, "I was just doing my job."

"Oh, stop it. We Lanes are many things. Modest is not one of them." As Lois laughed in agreement, Valerie then wrapped an arm around her and led her away from the crowd surrounding them. Valerie's security detail followed, but remained at the same inconspicuous remove when their charge brought herself and her niece to a halt in a secluded area by a courtyard fountain. With an earnest expression, Valerie squared herself to Lois, paused for a weighty moment, and then asked, "I take it you couldn't bring yourself to pull rank with Sam?"

Lois shifted uneasily, suddenly feeling as if she were a child again, and evaded the question by asking her aunt what she meant.

"Don't play coy with me, young lady," cautioned Valerie, crossing her arms. "You know damn well that short of some calamity obliging Sam to defer his daughters to his duty, he'd never deny you and Lucy anything. But rather than exercise your power over him, you two insist on coddling him - just like your Gammy has for his entire life, but that's neither here nor there. Hell, the only reason Lucy's skipping out on a scene this spectacular is to keep him company, because god forbid he find himself alone long enough to realize how wrongheaded he's being."

With a groaning exhale, Lois averted Valerie's gaze and reluctantly reckoned with her incisiveness, especially where it concerned Lucy. Without doubt, it would be easier for Lois to continue thinking of Lucy's absence as a means of pleasing their father, but she knew deep down that sibling rivalry in all likelihood had far more to do with her perception of Lucy's motives than with Lucy's motives themselves. The still harder truth, though, was that both she and her sister had spent years indulging their father's struggles with his grief. Still, even in Lois acknowledging as much to herself on perhaps a more conscious level than ever before, the mere thought of any alternative repulsed her. After all, she knew her father not as the domineering paternal figure those outside their family mistook him to be, but as a broadminded man committed to caring for his daughters - in spite of his broken heart.

Valerie, seeing her niece's emotions play across her face, took a calming breath and opened her arms to hug her. "Do forgive me, Lo. I forget that Sam has never done well with loss. He was about the same age when our father passed that you were when your mom did." Upon withdrawing from their embrace, Valerie then reached up to cradle Lois's cheeks. "My goodness…" she sighed, after regarding her for a moment. "It must unsettle you sometimes to have her looking back at you in a mirror."

"…I grew out of that. It's why I stopped lightening my hair a few years ago," explained Lois, hoping her small admission was enough. "Anyway, I just got her looks. Luce is more like her. Even Daddy says so."

"Well, he's not wrong; Ella was all polish and charm. But I tell you what, that woman was also an absolute force of nature. And that legacy endures in both of her namesakes."

Although heartening in many ways, Valerie's words failed to assuage the pang that Lois had first felt earlier that morning and that seemed only to sharpen with every subsequent mention of her mother. Yet again, however, she suppressed it, allowing herself to respond to her aunt with a grateful smile. Valerie then gave her another quick squeeze and shooed her off to go mingle with her guests. Lois resisted, though, and finally summoned the courage to ask the question she'd been avoiding putting to her aunt and her uncles for months. "So, uh, have you guys made up your minds about Smallville?" she squeaked out, chewing her lip.

Valerie looked at her quizzically.

"Oh, I mean 'Clark,'" Lois clarified with a nervous chuckle. "You know, it's funny, pretty much the only times I use his real name are when we're having a fight or when we're having se - Er, never mind. It's a habit, is all. He doesn't mind, though. He actually likes it. He thinks of it as a quirk. And he likes me quirky. He says - God, I'm rambling. Um… Look, I know how this family operates; I'm sure Gammy had some G-man investigate Smallville's background and I'm sure you and the uncles vetted every detail yourselves. Which is creepy and overbearing, but also really sweet. Besides, it's gotta be a good sign that all of you made the time to be here. It must mean you didn't turn up any red flags on paper. And since you've met Smallville, his family, and even practically all of his friends now, I'm just wondering whether he checks out on the whole. So… does he?"

"Well, we can't say just yet," smirked Valerie, taking up Lois's left hand and peering down at the keepsake adorning it. "As it happens, we reported back to your Gammy only to be faulted with neglecting to scrutinize a decisive detail. Your uncles, unsurprisingly, put both the blame for our oversight and the onus of correcting it on me."

Lois looked down likewise, almost as if to join in the appraising. The piece in question featured a flawless, square-cut diamond solitaire nestled within the cross-prong setting of a platinum band. Lois could still remember her now-fiancé's delight in first hearing her admiration of it, just as she could still remember her now-maid of honor's tales of Clark's exhaustive, months-long search for just the right ring.

Soon enough, though, Valerie's voice cut short Lois's reminiscing.

"Striking, elegant, distinctive - the perfect choice," declared Valerie, still eyeing the ring. "Now, if I were looking at some round stone in some plain setting, I'd worry. No beau with a true appreciation of my exceptional niece could ever offer her so conventional a token."

Lois exhaled the breath she'd been holding as Valerie affectionately patted her hand and found her gaze.

"He's on the mild side; there's no denying that," said the older woman in earnest. "But we take him to be a gentleman, and we're convinced that he's not only devoted to you but also plenty intimidated by us. You brought us a good one, Lo. We'll be glad to call him family."

Lois grinned from ear to ear and threw her arms around her aunt. Valerie, as she hugged her back, couldn't help thinking all the more of her late sister-in-law and, as a result, couldn't help chancing upon an as yet undiscovered well of sympathy for her youngest brother. Before she could acknowledge as much to Lois, however, she noticed one of her underlings approaching, mobile in hand.

"There are only five people in our entire government who outrank me. One of them had better be on that line," warned Valerie, letting go of her niece.

The underling apologized for interrupting and told her that the call was from her deputy's office.

Valerie, her voice and features severe, replied, "Do remind the deputy that I am with my family through Sunday and that, short of a third world war breaking out, I expect him to let me in peace and mind the goddamn store until I return."

At that, the underling promptly turned to shrink away, only to be momentarily recalled by Valerie and further charged with getting her the National Security Advisor on the phone.

"Not off the clock after all?" asked Lois, once she and Valerie were alone again.

With a softened tone, her aunt returned, "Siblings never have that luxury."

Lois quirked an eyebrow in question.

"I suppose I don't have to agree with Sammie to feel for him," sighed Valerie. "Perhaps he could use a word or two of commiseration from his bullheaded big sister."

Needing no more of an explanation, Lois shared a quiet moment of understanding with her aunt and then finally allowed her to send her on her way.

As Lois reentered the thick of the carnival, she took out one of her mobiles, intending to dial up a couple members of her bridal party and to ask for their company while she circulated amongst the many guests she'd yet to properly receive. Just as she pulled up her phone's home screen, though, she saw that she'd missed a text from an unfamiliar number. Upon opening the message, she found a photo attached to it.

She stopped, smiled.

The shot contained the familiar face of a young girl waving to her from the steps of an art museum.


	18. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Four

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

Hair and Makeup had indeed pitched a fit. They'd spotted the bride just as she met up with her maid of honor, her bridesmaid, and their respective siblings. Fussing and scolding, the pair immediately pulled their client into the air-conditioned space of a mobile restroom trailer, plucked off her hat, and broke out their emergency kits. Amongst other items, the kits contained cleansing scrubs, moisturizing rinses, and sunscreens in the forms of both a facial cream and a hairspray. Lois, content to let the expert duo do their jobs, cooperated as best she could despite snickering at their neuroticism.

After applying the final touches of cream and tucking Lois's hair back under her hat just so, the pair exhorted the bride to stay out of any direct sunlight and then assigned a parasol-toting apprentice to shade her if she got careless. Lois objected to their latter directive, insisting that she'd carry the parasol herself if it mattered to them that much. Page, who'd just tracked down his charge, objected as well, stating that he should be the one to accept the task. Nevertheless, Hair and Makeup proclaimed against either inconveniencing their client or delegating someone who didn't answer directly to them. With a huff, the bride had thus relented, choosing instead to focus her energy on the meeting and greeting to which she then set off.

"You know, I won't tell them you handed over that stupid parasol if you don't," said Lois, addressing the younger woman who'd currently been trailing the bride and her companions for the past hour.

The apprentice, although grateful for Lois's repeated offers, replied that she was happy to pay whatever dues necessary for the privilege of training under the master stylist who was co-managing the wedding's hair and makeup team. Lois nodded in understanding and, by way of commiseration, began regaling the younger woman with tales of the months-long hazing to which Perry had subjected the _Daily Planet_ workforce upon him assuming the position of executive editor.

"Nearly a third of the entire staff ended up quitting," interjected Dinah, speaking as much to the apprentice as to the strapping young wedding guest she'd enticed into accompanying her around a short while ago. "And, of course, that was exactly what he wanted - to drop all the dead weight and revitalize the place with hungry new hires. Lane was the only one of us to make it through Perry's hell without so much as a singe. And yet, there are still those who wonder why she's his favorite."

Lois chuckled and gave her bridesmaid a bump. "Our commander-in-chief does not play favorites."

"So he'd like HR to believe. But even if taking all the heat Perry threw our way hadn't been enough to earn Lane a permanent place in his good graces, securing the _Planet_ its new owner most definitely did the trick."

In replying, Dinah had gestured over toward the maid of honor, who tipped his head in acknowledgement. Bruce's endeavor to acquire the renowned publication for which the bride and the bridesmaid worked had initially been met with resistance from its then-owner, Lex Luthor. As it happened, though, Lois had for years been in possession of video footage that captured the actual circumstances surrounding Lionel Luthor's death. And in exchange for that footage, the exposure of which surely would've removed Lex from the campaign trail to a prison cell, Lois had managed to arrange the sale of the _Daily Planet_ from LexCom to Wayne Entertainment for the price of just one dollar. For that, Perry would indeed be forever grateful.

That very man was one of the first persons Lois and her company spotted as they soon reached the staging area for the eating contests. Many of the carnival guests and most of the wedding party had already begun to gather for the noon event. After waving to Perry, Lois then perceived the groom's head sticking out from a different part of the crowd and, overcome with glee, she instantly dashed off toward him.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Clark, stumbling back a step as his fiancée's unmistakable form hurtled through the air and into his arms out of nowhere. He managed to catch her, of course, but instinctively glanced about for any member of her paternal family, while Lois, arms draped over his shoulders and legs wrapped about his middle, sat back in the cradle of his embrace. With the assurance that he and Lois were under only the far less disconcerting scrutinies of his smirking guardian and godfathers, with whom he'd been idly talking, Clark looked up at her and said with only slight embarrassment, "Hey there."

"Hey, yourself," she grinned, oblivious to any and all onlookers. "Nice catch, by the way."

He laughed in response to her infectious gaiety. "You must've ridden half the rides here to be this excited."

"Haven't gotten on a single one. Been busy circulating, schmoozing. Why can't I just be happy to see my sexy, sexy hunk of a man?"

Even the silliest of Lois's flattery couldn't but puff up Clark, stretching an aw-shucks smile across his face as he replied, "Well, you can, it's just - Wait. Did you find out about the first d -"

Dinah, who'd just caught up with the bride, covered Clark's mouth to keep him from saying anything more. "- Really, Sugar, she's just glad to glimpse your gorgeous self again."

"Okay. But why?"

Lois, throwing her arms around Clark and squeezing him tight, giddily replied, "Because you passed!"

"Passed what?"

"Muster," said Dinah, taking something from the purse hanging off the bride's shoulder. Upon Clark looking down at the item, he saw that it was a pin-back button covered in glitter and bearing the words "LANE APPROVED." Dinah explained that Lois had hastily fashioned the memento in the arts and crafts tent a little while ago. "It's supposed to be a medal or something," she continued, chuckling at her friend's oddball gesture. "So… congratulations, I guess."

Clark, as amused as Dinah, thanked Lois for the award, but added that he thought he'd already received her extended paternal family's endorsement.

"Sort of, just not technically. Not until today," replied his intended, leaning back to affectionately stroke his hair. "But Madam Secretary finally gave me the official word. She says everyone likes you and everyone's on board with me keeping you."

"You do know that he's not some pet, right?" asked Dinah, who'd returned to the bride's purse in the futile search for a pair of sunglasses to borrow. "I mean, don't get me wrong, he's as cute and cuddly as they come. But still, not a pet."

Clark smirked, interjecting, "Actually, she prefers to think of me as a toy."

"As my _favorite_ toy," corrected Lois.

Both her sentiment and the news she'd just given her betrothed heartened him. Before meeting her extended families, Clark had had only an outsider's sense of their importance to her. For years, he'd been aware of her flying to the East Coast at least once every couple months to spend a long weekend with her paternal side, just as he'd been aware of her and her sister flying abroad three or four times a year to spend a week or so with their maternal side. It hadn't been until after he and Lois got engaged, though, that she began to allow him an initiate's insight into the personalities and dynamics that constituted her family.

Amongst the more intimate details that Lois revealed to him pertained to her godmother, with whom Clark had long known Lois spoke on a daily basis but about whom Lois had never before talked to him at length. Although Clark was surprised upon learning the true nature of Aimée's relationship with Lois's mother, as well as the arrangement agreed to by them and Lois's father, his prevailing response was regret for having not sat down with Aimée in the same manner that he had with Lucy and Samuel before proposing to Lois. In meeting Aimée, though, Clark found her graciously opposed to his apologies and interested only in getting to know him, which she had indeed been able to do during the week he and Martha, along with the Lane sisters, had stayed with Moira and Aimée in the Parisian townhouse where the former's daughter and the latter's goddaughters had been brought up.

In contrast to that cozy, cordial visit, Clark's time with Lois's paternal relations had been clamorous, crowded, and, at least at the outset, daunting. As he and his company arrived at Lane Park - a rural, seven-hundred-acre Maryland estate that had been passed down to Lois's grandmother and later renamed by her in memory of her husband upon his untimely passing - Martha tried yet again to assure him that the few Lanes she'd encountered during her time in D.C. had been perfectly personable outside the professional realm. Nevertheless, as Lois and Lucy settled him, his mother, and his godfathers into the main guest house, Clark couldn't but feel all the more oppressed in finding himself amidst the trappings of the family's history and stature, and all the more anxious at the prospect of meeting the countless relatives and friends who were due to descend upon the estate the next morning to kick off Lois's admiral uncle's retirement festivities.

For about the first hour or two that following day, Clark spoke very little, deferring mostly to Lois and Martha as he struggled to gain his bearings. Ultimately, though, his mother did him the favor of placing a wailing newborn into his hands. The infant's cries ceased almost immediately, earning Clark the goodwill of all those within earshot and affording him a subject of conversation that inevitably opened him up: his work and experience with kids. From that point on, he was far more sociable, far more at ease - that is, until the last day of his stay.

In retrospect, Clark recognized the suspiciousness of Lois's ten first cousins inviting him along for an early morning workout. At the time, though, he'd mistaken it as a gesture of camaraderie, only to be set right when their jogging hike ended at the estate's training compound. Peculiarly enough, at no point during their subsequent time at the compound's shooting range did any of the generally affable men - amongst them, several past and present members of elite military tactical teams - make any explicit threats. Nonetheless, the deft, purposeful manners in which they handled and discharged their firearms, all while warmly bandying tales of the mischief Lois had grown up getting them both into and out of, made their collective message abundantly clear.

Of all Clark's experiences that weekend, most of them in fact enjoyable, that one couldn't but loom in his mind. And, despite being pleased by the knowledge that he'd secured the formal blessing of the Lane family, he didn't hesitate to mention that incident to the woman in his arms. "Does this mean that your cousins won't be luring me into any more traps?" he asked her.

Lois giggled, "It means that the next time a bunch of SEALs and Green Berets invite you and only you somewhere, you'll know they're not doing it to be nice. I swear, only you could've gotten suckered into that. You are such an innocent."

"Are you complaining?"

"Only when I don't get my way."

"Don't I know it."

Just then, Perry came upon them. "All right, break it up, you two," he said. "You get more than enough of that in at work."

"Excuse me?" replied Martha, who appeared likewise.

Clark started and, immediately setting down Lois, quickly told his mother, "He's kidding. Just kidding. Right, Mr. White?"

Perry scoffed.

Nevertheless, Martha spared her son by pushing past the awkward moment and on to the subject of the opening eating contest, which was to pit a younger member of the groom's party against a younger member of the bridal party in an obstacle course ending with the polishing off of one of Martha's signature apple pies. Jimmy had already eagerly volunteered to champion Clark's team, leaving only the matter of who was to stand for Lois. Almost on cue, Bruce and Dinah looked to each other. After a silent standoff, Dinah then turned to Martha, insisting, "You know, my brother would absolutely be up for this kind of thing. And he's got the right kind of charisma for it. He'd be a total crowd-pleaser."

Lois rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Worst. Bridal Party. Ever."

"Well, what do you want us to tell you, Lane?" returned Dinah, assuming a similarly obstinate stance. "I've got my reputation and Wayne's got his dignity."

Lois cocked her head at Bruce, who only smirked in agreement with Dinah. As the present observers then shared a laugh, Dinah again suggested her brother.

"We're practically the same person; it'll be like I'm up there myself," she reasoned, looking around for her twin. Upon seeing that he'd wandered off into the multitude gathered before the stage and was busy flirting with an attractive young woman, Dinah qualified her prior certainty of his readiness to participate, saying, "Just give me a minute. I've got to go get him off the prowl first."

No sooner had Dinah and her brawny tagalong disappeared into the crowd than Bart and Stuart emerged from it, leaving Clark's best man, who was occupied with entertaining the youngsters from whom the groom had been obliged to temporarily part, the only member of the wedding's inner circle absent from the present goings-on. Upon perceiving the group, Bart immediately called out, bargaining with Jimmy to let him take his place in the contest. Martha started over to meet Bart, intending to remind him that his participation would be unfair to his opponent, but Lois, spotting a rosy blemish on Bart's lower neck, loudly shot down his request, plucked something out of Ace's hands, and then charged at the groomsman.

"What is your deal?" he complained, struggling futilely against the taller, stronger woman as she grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him off. "Hey, Stretch, are you gonna let her do this to me?"

Clark chuckled, "There's no stopping an unstoppable force, buddy. Good luck!"

By the time the bride released her captive, they'd reached a vacant area around the back of the stage. "Look, Frodo, I know how much you can't help playing the imp, but do you think you could fight the urge long enough to let Ace do her job?" said Lois, shoving the restaurant menu she'd taken from the personal assistant into the groomsman's hands. "There are over a hundred people going to the rehearsal luncheon and, apparently, you're the only one who's yet to make up his mind about his four courses. So how about getting on board with the rest of us and figuring out what the hell you want?"

"Or else what?" Bart replied with defiance.

Lois narrowed her eyes at him and gritted her teeth. "Take the menu. Go look it over. And make a damn decision."

"No way. I'm not ready."

Stalemated, they stood in silence for several seconds, until Lois, seeing no other option, laid out her trump: "Go figure out your order… or stay here and deal with everyone teasing you about that fresh hickey."

Bart's face instantly fell. Mortified, he blushed, covered his neck, and replied in vain, "That's stupid, I don't have a - I mean, I just came from watching _The Avengers_, which I totally did not miss a second of. So when would I have even had the time to - Y-You need to get your eyes checked, Lane."

Ignoring Bart's protestations, Lois took a makeup compact from her purse, showed him what it was, and offered it to him.

After a few moments' pause, Bart meekly accepted the favor Lois was trying to do him and took the compact from her grasp. Before leaving her, though, he managed to regain just enough of his bearings to remark, "It's _not_ a hickey. But if it were, I would've gotten it from Grandma Lane."

Despite Lois's annoyance with him, she chuckled a bit at his retort as he scampered off to grab Stuart and to drag him along to help him.

In returning to the others, Lois discovered that Dinah hadn't yet been able to pry her brother away from the woman he was chatting up. "C'mon," the bride consequently implored her maid of honor. "Can't you go a little wild and crazy this one time? For me? Pretty please."

Bruce, obliged to not budge, began making as gentle as possible an apology to Lois. He was soon interrupted, however, when a familiar voice with a familiar cheek unexpectedly entered the air.

"Now, what's this I hear about Legs needing someone up for a little public humiliation?"


	19. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Five

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

Beaming already, Lois turned in the direction of Oliver Queen, who, having headed directly over to her, met her with a kiss to her cheek and an embrace.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Lois, squeezing her bridesmaid tight. "I totally knew it! I totally knew you'd come!"

Oliver chuckled, "Oh, now, you tell me? Too bad you didn't share all this certainty a couple days ago. You know how much I hate figuring out for myself how to play the man instead of the child."

"Poor Ollie. I swear, I only kept my mouth shut to make sure you'd have the honor of being fashionably late."

"Ah, don't cut me that kind of slack, Legs," he replied, pulling back to find her gaze and to offer her the flowers he was holding. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to get my head out of my ass. I'm sorry."

Lois assured Oliver that he was forgiven and happily accepted the large, elegant bouquet. Then, leaning in to squeeze him again, she whispered, "Fair warning, though: Save the rest of your mea culpas for Lance. You're gonna need 'em."

"I'm still in that deep with her, huh?"

"Bet your ass."

"Got it. Thanks for the heads-up."

Upon withdrawing from Oliver, Lois asked Page to have the bridal party suite's butler vase her flowers and place them on the nightstand in her rooms. In the meantime, Oliver managed only a slight tip of the head in Clark's direction before cordially shaking the hands of Carissa and Bruce, whom he'd been on familiar terms with since their youths, while several of the others greeted him with gracious nods, warm hugs, or genial pats on the back.

After Martha had gotten in her welcome, Lois introduced Oliver to Aimée and Moira, the only persons present whom he'd never before encountered. In fluent French, Oliver paid a number of compliments to the two women and conveyed his regrets for having almost missed the opportunity to meet them. They returned his civilities in kind. Nevertheless, in making Oliver's acquaintance, Moira couldn't but think of her daughter, who'd been candid in describing both the protracted collapse in her alliance with him and in acknowledging the point of contention that'd destroyed things between them for good.

Once finished offering his hellos and obeisance, Oliver returned to the matter of the eating contest. Before he'd said very much on the subject, however, Daniel Lance approached to meet him.

"Now, it's a party!" proclaimed Daniel, shaking Oliver's hand and then enfolding him in a full hug. "What happened? The official word was you were held up with business."

"Change of plans," smiled Oliver, glad for the energetic greeting from the man with whom he'd shared a rapport for the last couple years. "Where's the family?"

"Here and there. Tweety got a peek at you, though. She's hanging back in the crowd with Mr. Right Now."

Oliver scoffed in feigned offense. "He's not prettier than me, is he?"

"Ah, c'mon, you know your pathetic mug rates first with her regardless. Anyway, are you serious about the contest?"

Oliver replied that he indeed was, adding that gorging himself for Lois's sake was the least he could do to atone for his late arrival. Laughing, Daniel took his mobile from his pocket and stated that he absolutely had to get his parents over for the spectacle.

Leaning in a bit, Oliver asked, "Are you sure they're not out for my blood or something?"

"Dude, if either of my folks wanted you dead, you already would be. And at any rate, Tweety tossed you in the penalty box; she didn't eject you from the game. They know the difference. They're still pulling for you." As Daniel prepared to dial up his mother, though, he hesitated, considered matters a bit further, and then said to Oliver in a low, earnest voice, "Look, um, Tweety didn't tell them what happened, but she did tell me. I think she's overreacting a bit. I also think her reasons are valid. So you will explain yourself to her, right? Grovel or whatever, if you have to?"

In a mutually solemn tone, Oliver replied that those were exactly his intentions and that he planned to carry them out just as soon as Dinah would allow him to speak to her. The assurance returned the smile to Daniel's face and the jollity to his demeanor. With a quick good-luck to Oliver and a quick wave to the others, he then rushed off to find Dee and Larry, at which point Jimmy stepped forward to begin jokingly trash-talking his competition.

Not long thereafter, Jimmy and Oliver, having been ushered backstage, provided spare T-shirts, and briefed on the obstacle course by a carnival employee, were all set for the task ahead. Microphone in hand, Martha stood behind a curtain on the verge of taking the stage with the two challengers, the bride, and the groom, but was held back by Lois asking her if she could kick off the amusement by saying a few words of welcome and thanks on behalf of herself and her "roommate."

"That depends," smirked Martha, speaking up over the music and the crowd noise filling the air. "Will you be referring to him as your roommate?"

Lois chuckled at herself, replying, "Cross my heart, I do know he's not only that. I think it all the time."

"Well, in that case…" smiled the older woman, handing over the microphone. As it was, Martha didn't in the least mind the bride's peculiarity, given what it signified of her past and present discretion in sharing a home with the now-groom. At a point in his younger years, Clark, driven largely by the romantic ideals that disposed him as much to enduring devotion as to reckless haste, had rushed into cohabitation. Martha had been aware of his living arrangement at the time, but despite her displeasure with it, she found herself reluctant to oppose Clark's decisions regarding the farm on which she did not reside during that period.

Accordingly, Martha had entirely approved of Lois turning down Clark's offer to move into the Metropolis apartment that Lois herself had found for him a couple months following Martha's departure from D.C. and return to Smallville. To Martha's question as to her reasoning, Lois explained that, for one, she felt it was important for Clark to enjoy living in a space that was solely his; and, for two, she had never and would never "play house." Such forbearance couldn't but gratify Martha. And upon Lois and Clark later becoming engaged, she'd been just as pleased to hear of Lois's idea for them to design an apartment home and to share it as roommates, with separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms, for the duration of their betrothal.

As the curtain to the stage was presently drawn back, Martha therefore chuckled to herself as she recalled that Clark had learned early on in living with Lois that she was indeed adamant about continuing to limit the number of nights they spent together. From the little that Martha had heard about the instructive incident, she gathered that her son had acted on impulse, only to be furiously rebuked for doing so. What she didn't know, what Clark himself didn't realize as he'd crawled into Lois's bed late one winter night, was that all around the darkened suite there was evidence of the hush-hush project that Lois had just begun. Upon waking to the distinct feeling of her fiancé's entirely nude form cuddling up to her, Lois started, shrieked, and, in a furor of incomprehensible scolding and wild gesticulations, threw Clark out of her rooms.

Lois expressed herself sorry for her vehemence shortly thereafter. Nonetheless, she did maintain to Clark that while she was all for his spontaneity under most other circumstances, she wanted to stick to their agreement to plan ahead for any overnights. Oblivious as to Lois's initial reason for losing it with him and concerned that he'd affronted her on some deeper level, Clark reciprocated her apologies with several days' worth of his own. On the evening of day five, when Lois arrived home from an outing with friends to find that Clark had prepared her yet another elaborate meal, she sat him down, took her time in convincing him that she hadn't been offended, and, before climbing into his lap and stripping off her shirt, casually reminded him to steer clear of her workroom, where she'd since moved the project of which he was still ignorant.

Still and all, with the carnival crowd erupting at the sight of the bride and the groom, the clamor of the present drowned out what remained of Martha's warm reflections on her son's intended.

…

Doubling over, Oliver was again seized by the overwhelming urge to vomit. Once more, however, he fought the reflex, as surrendering to it would only mean adding insult to the injury of defeat.

"Better out than in, Ollie," the bride told him, hardly bothering to hide her amusement as she rubbed his bare back.

Lois and Bruce had joined Oliver backstage, while the groom and his victorious champion remained out front to assist with the dozens of kids who were filed onto the stage for the next contest. Oliver thought the youngsters lucky; at least they wouldn't be expected to get through half a watermelon, two pounds of onion rings, a dozen hotdogs, and an entire apple pie, in addition to dashing back and forth, literally jumping through hoops to reach the successive food stations. Oliver reminded himself, though, that the crowd had enjoyed the show and that the worst of his digestive discomfort had passed. Moreover, with his face washed, his mouth rinsed, and his T-shirt of defeat discarded, he at least felt more like himself. Now, if only he could catch a break from the teasing bride.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" asked Oliver, glancing sidelong at Lois.

"Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait 'til I get a hold of the video footage. I'm thinking a stylized montage set to Weird Al's _Eat It_."

With a chuckle, Oliver hung his head and returned his focus to his unsettled stomach. Before he managed to right himself, though, he heard the approach of an unmistakable gait and soon saw a pair of similarly recognizable shoes come to a halt directly before him. On cue, the bride and her maid of honor slipped away.

After a prolonged pause, Oliver asked, "Am I permitted to speak to you now?"

"Only sparingly and only if you've cleaned up your mess."

"Good, because I have," Oliver replied with contrition. "I talked things through with her. She understands, but she'd already made up her mind about resigning. I gave her a generous severance package. I even pulled some strings and landed her an even better gig. She doesn't start for another month, so she and a bunch of her friends are on vacation until then - at my expense, of course." Upon his reply eliciting no further response, Oliver forced himself to stand up straight. Quite unsurprisingly, his elevated gaze revealed to him the glower of the fair-haired woman opposite him. He sighed, considering what else was appropriate to say at the moment, and soon began with, "Listen, Birdie -"

"- Spare me the endearment."

"All right. Understood. Whatever you say, just… Listen, I didn't plan it. I didn't initiate it. Not that that's any excuse. I know I screwed up. What I did was irresponsible and indiscriminate; it was promiscuous. I could've just turned her down and none of this would've happened. But I didn't and it did. And I can't begin to tell you -"

"- I didn't come back here for an apology."

Impulsively, Oliver retorted, "Well, then, are you here to play nurse? Because you can probably imagine what just the idea of you in candy-stripes does for me."

Dinah shot him a scornful look, turned, and walked away.

"Yep. Definitely asked for that," Oliver muttered to himself, grabbing his shirt, jacket, and tie from the back of a chair, throwing on the former two, and hurrying after Dinah. By the time he caught up to her, she'd reached the bottom stair leading down from an exit out of the backstage. Lois and Bruce had lingered about in that same area, but Oliver scarcely noticed them as he rounded the front of Dinah, stopping her. "Let me try this again," he said, regarding her plaintively as he buttoned his shirt. "I'd like for us to talk. I'd like to answer for my gross lapse in judgment. And I'd like to hear anything you have to say to me, even if it's at a frequency that'll shred my eardrums. When, if ever, would be good for you?"

"No time soon," Dinah evenly replied. "I'm working on a date."

"Do you plan on it lasting the whole weekend?"

"Probably just the night."

Stung, Oliver couldn't stop himself from rejoining, "I'd say I'm not jealous, but I'd be lying. Maybe you and the man of the hour will want a third?" His slip earned him another contemptuous glare. Before Dinah could step around him, though, he moved in front of her and insisted that he'd only been half-serious in his proposition. She scoffed and looked off to the side, but betrayed the slightest bit of amusement in so doing. Oliver therefore availed himself of the opportunity, softening his tone as he asked her permission to spend some time with her parents while she occupied herself elsewhere.

Dinah considered his request for a few seconds. Then, finding his eyes again, she told him, "They only pretend to like you, you know."

"Funny, that's not how Danny tells it," returned Oliver, while retrieving a case from his inner jacket pocket. Upon opening it, he offered its contents to Dinah, saying, "I, uh, picked these up for you in one of the shoppes on the hotel concourse before I headed over here. You're always forgetting yours, so…"

After taking a long look at the pair of designer sunglasses, Dinah ultimately plucked them from their case and slipped them on. Directing her gaze over at the bride and the maid of honor, she then promised to catch up with them in a bit, passed around the man before her, and swaggered off.

Oliver watched her go, running his eyes over her figure despite himself. Once Dinah had disappeared into the crowd, he blinked away his transfixed state and made his way to Lois and Bruce. Ignoring the smirk of the former, he wondered aloud to her, "Is Birdie all right?"

"What do you mean?" replied Lois.

"Well, in the first place, she's never barred me from her life for this long before. And, in the second place, these past two weeks should've burned out some of her anger, but it's pretty obvious to me that that fire may actually be raging even hotter. It's almost as if she's… upset. Which is odd, because I'm not entirely convinced that's a feeling she's capable of registering."

Lois made no reply.

"What, am I right? Is she upset? Did I _upset_ her?"

"You're gonna have to ask her that."

Sparing no time for a second thought, Oliver turned to start off toward the spot where he'd last seen Dinah. Lois grabbed his arm, though, pulling him back.

"Not now, dummy. Give the woman some space."

His expression despondent, Oliver peered back over his shoulder in the direction of the crowd.

"Oh, buck up," said Lois, giving him a firm punch to the shoulder. "She spoke to you, didn't she? She even accepted your gift. That's what we call progress. I swear, you moony-eyed types are no better than pissy little toddlers; you don't just want it all, you want it all right now. Never mind the good a little patience would do. Any waiting whatsoever launches you into a full-blown tantrum. "

At a loss for words, Oliver stared unblinkingly at Lois. Soon enough, however, something occurred to him and he chuckled, "I take it you're not speaking generally about us 'moony-eyed types.' What's wrong, Diana still giving Wayne here the cold shoulder?"

Oliver's jest was met with a deadpan expression from Bruce.

"Fair enough. None of my business," replied the bridesmaid, arresting his laughter. "Anyway, how do I look, Legs? Good to go see the parents?"

Happy to help, Lois straightened Oliver's tie, smoothed out his jacket, and, with a remark of approval, sent him on his way. The second he was out of earshot, she then faced the man who remained at her side. "You know I wasn't lumping you in with Ollie and his kind, right?"

With a warm glance and a generous smile, Bruce nodded in response to her question. Nevertheless, Oliver's mistaken assumption returned to Lois's mind the concern that she'd managed to set aside for a while.

"What is it?" asked Bruce, seeing in her features her altered mood.

Lois started to respond to him, but both her gaze and her attention were abruptly drawn to a sight off in the distance. "Who is that chatting up CJ? - Wait. I know her. That's one of Smallville's basketball buddies. She's a total Lothario! Oh, hell no. I'll be damned if this goes down on my watch."

Bruce took a moment to peer in the direction of Carissa, who was waiting in a concessions line and pleasantly engaging a sporty young woman with long, locked hair. "They met yesterday afternoon at the mixer," he then informed Lois, amusement in his voice as he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from charging off. "They got on well. I expect they intend to spend more time together this evening."

Lois scoffed, "Like hell am I focusing on a basketball game while CJ gets seduced by some silver-tongued she-wolf."

"Lola -"

"- What have I told you about 'Lola'-ing me? I am trying to defend your sister's honor."

"You're at least a few years too late for that. And in any case, my Rissa is far shrewder about these matters than you may realize. She is far more predator than prey."

Lois regarded Bruce skeptically. Then, dismissing his assurance and once more attempting to rush off, she said, "Just in case."

"Do you behave this way with your Lucienne?" asked Bruce, corralling the bride a second time.

"Okay, one: Luce doesn't take kindly to anyone but me using her real name. And two: You bet your ass I act like this with her. Somebody's gotta be the bad cop."

"Does General Lane not suffice in that role?"

"Oh, please," returned Lois, finally giving up on her mission to seek and destroy. "He's totally good cop with whoever Luce dates. But, then, she's into military types. The General's practically in love with the Troupe guy she's been seeing. He's a West Point grad and a decorated captain. Oh, and to top it off, he aspires to political office - just like Luce. She is such a kiss-ass."

Smirking, Bruce edged, "I must say, Lola, your sister strikes me as a woman who knows her own mind. Perhaps not every decision she makes comes down to what would most gratify your father."

Unamused by having yet another person's observations remind her of her tendency toward prejudice on the subject of her sister, Lois rolled her eyes and said nothing. Her annoyance was superseded by her concern, however, when Bruce again inquired as to what matter had absorbed her thoughts just a few moments ago.

Lois paused, contemplating how best to broach the subject with him. When, after a short time, she found herself still undecided, she simply stepped into Bruce's immediate space and quietly asked him if they could talk later on, perhaps after their evening out. Reciprocating her gravity, Bruce took her hand, pressed a kiss to it, and agreed to the date.


	20. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Six

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER SIX

* * *

"She is becoming quite provoked."

"What? Which one?" said the groom, looking between his best man and the couple handfuls of children, five of whom were girls, riding bumper cars under their supervision.

"I am referring to Lois. Perhaps you should go to her."

Confused, Clark peered around at the areas of the carnival surrounding them. His search failed in turning up his fiancée, and he consequently redirected his gaze to Diana. "I don't even see her. How can you be sure?"

"Ask me again some other time. For now, go."

"Sorry, not happening. Not unless you're absolutely positive. My hearing hasn't triggered, so she can't be dealing with anything too upsetting."

Diana couldn't but enjoy a chuckle at Clark's reluctance.

"This isn't funny," he insisted, only half-smiling. "If you're wrong, she'll accuse me of stalking her and then she'll bawl me out for the next hour. And, frankly, I won't hesitate to implicate you if it comes to that."

Diana smirked, "Have faith, Sunshine. Even I would incite her wrath no sooner than you would."

"Here's hoping you mean that."

After pressing a kiss of gratitude to Diana's hand and waving to the few kids whose attentions he could draw, Clark extended his hearing beyond his immediate setting, seeking out Lois's heartbeat. Upon perceiving and focusing in on it, he noted its increasing rate and set off in its direction.

In making his way across the carnival grounds, Clark encountered a number of ambling weekend-long guests. Of them, several belonged to the group that he, Bart, and Jimmy regularly met up with to play or watch basketball. However, as those individuals were to join the younger members of the wedding party later that evening, when they were all to head to a nearby sports bar to view game seven of the NBA Finals, they said only a few cheerful words to Clark and allowed him to continue on. With the remaining wedding guests that he encountered, Clark was similarly fortunate. In their eyes, for as kind and courteous a young man as he seemed to be, the only interesting thing about him was the company he kept. And as he'd already received them the day before, the only further pleasantries they could think to exchange with him were smiling nods and passing mentions of how much they were enjoying themselves.

When Clark's lengthy trek finally brought him within view of Lois, he saw in her body language that she was just barely maintaining her façade of civility in speaking with the person opposite her, and he accordingly double-timed his stride.

"Actually, I never considered changing my name," replied Lois, wishing more than ever that she hadn't let her run to a washroom trailer separate her from all of her companions, save her personal attendant and her personal shader, both of whom remained steadfast in their duties to her.

"Professionally, you mean," said the older man, chuckling as if he needn't have bothered with phrasing his response as a question.

Masking her exasperation yet again, Lois took a moment to shift her weight and to adjust her hat. Familiar as she was with nuptial affairs, she'd known going in that her and her betrothed's wedding would entail an inevitable amount of unsolicited opinions and unwelcome probing from virtual strangers. She'd prepared herself accordingly, working out responses that would prevent her interrogators from pressing her too far on any given topic. And, as it was, she thought she'd done an admirable job of playing the gracious host during the hour before and the hour since her bridesmaid's defeat in the eating contest.

Nonetheless, the thirty-something Army major she'd met as she'd exited the washrooms had spent the past several minutes not only angling to assess how well she would conform to what he deemed a wife's proper role, but also endeavoring to sway her convictions whenever she implied herself opposed to any such conventional mold. She felt herself growing angrier and angrier by the second, which distracted her too much for her to invent a means of escaping the conversation. Stuck, she therefore bided her time with another curt reply, hoping that Dinah or Bruce would find her before she lost what little remained of her patience.

"No, I mean I never considered changing it in any way. Not professionally. Not legally."

"But why on earth wouldn't you?" asked the major, seeming genuinely concerned. "You must have grown up hoping for the day a man would come along and make you his lucky missus. All girls do."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm actually pretty sure some _women_ out there aren't as interested in becoming a 'lucky missus' as in landing one or more of their own."

"Of course. But as for normal young ladies like yourself, it's generally understood that a wife taking her husband's name is one of the highest honors she can do him. It's a gesture of loyalty, of love."

Forcing a smile, Lois returned, "'Different strokes for different folks,' right? Actually, going back to my great-great-grandmother, the women in my mom's family have kept and passed on the de Chevalier surname to their daughters. Their husbands, if they've had husbands, wouldn't have married them in the first place if they couldn't get on board with that sort of tradition."

"Your father must be the exception, then. You are a Lane, no?"

"Sure, just not according to my birth certificate. But socially, me and my sister have always used 'Lane' on U.S. soil; it's easier for _Américains_ to pronounce."

The major's brow furrowed in disapproval. "Well, despite all that," he replied, "there are ways for even you modern gals to show due deference to your husbands-to-be. You could always hyphenate. Or simply add on."

"Those are valid options, I suppose. They're just not for me."

The major paused, sighed. Then, in as patronizing a tone as Lois had ever heard, said, "You know, sweetheart, perhaps a decision this important would be best left with your groom. His view would be more sensible, I'm sure."

Having just parted her lips in order to spew the first word of what she intended to be a thoroughly profane rebuke, Lois was stopped short only by Clark's hand coming to rest on her lower back and his voice beating hers to the air.

"Here you are! I've been looking all over for you. Oh, pardon me, sir. How are you?"

In turning away to hide her exasperation and leaving the groom to run interference, Lois glimpsed her two attendants standing off at a remove. The stylist apprentice, in apology both for what she'd witnessed the bride endure and for her own uncertainty as to whether to intervene, mouthed a cringing "Sorry." Page, for his part, looked similarly contrite. Feeling for them, Lois managed to relax her features a bit and to roll her eyes at the situation. Just a few moments thereafter, she was then relieved to be led away by Clark, who'd dismissed the major by telling him that the Secretary of Defense had sent him to collect her.

"Thanks for the save," sighed Lois, leaning into Clark as he threaded his fingers into hers. "I was about to tear that guy a new one wide enough to roll a tank through."

Clark smirked, "There's an image."

"Oh, don't think that would've been the end of it. Next, I was gonna put in a call to The General. He hates that 'Me Tarzan, you Jane' crap. Thinks it disgraces the uniform. He would've gotten Major A-hole demoted, to say nothing of the hell he would've raised after hearing that that chauvinist basically called two of my parents deviants."

"Well, in case you're not content to stop there, don't hesitate to call me too. I may not have the knack for tearing, demoting, or hell-raising, but I'm told I do throw a decent punch for a mild-mannered man."

With a weary chuckle, Lois replied, "My hero. Where'd you come from, anyway?"

"The bumper cars."

"But that's clear across the way. Your hearing didn't trigger, did it? Because I was only annoyed, and if your threshold for my distress is getting that low, then -"

Tilting his chin down, Clark lowered his voice and headed off her concern. "- It didn't and it isn't. Diana told me you were, quote, 'becoming quite provoked.' Don't ask me how she knows these things. She just does."

"Whatever," replied Lois, surrendering to her mental exhaustion. "Is it time for us to get out of here yet?"

"Why? You don't seem hungry."

"That's because I'm not. It's just that I've been schmoozing for two whole hours - which is, like, an hour and fifty-nine minutes beyond what I can typically tolerate. So, now, all I wanna do is go spend the rest of my day around people I don't have to fake anything with."

Attempting to cheer her up, Clark replied that the carnival rides must've been a welcome relief from her obligatory mingling. Lois subsequently acknowledged that she still hadn't been on one, prompting her intended to immediately redirect their path toward the nearest mind-blowing attraction. She resisted, telling him that she'd rather go hide out in her rooms until it was time to depart for the rehearsal luncheon. He, however, wouldn't hear of her leaving without having at least some fun herself. Looking around, he soon caught sight of one of the carnival's less ostentatious amusements off in the distance. Smiling, Clark then told Lois that he had an idea and pulled out his mobile in order to let a few people know where to meet them.

Not ten minutes later, Lois's entire mood had changed as she laughingly resisted the peer pressure all around her.

"Oh, quit stalling, Lane!" insisted Dinah, speaking for the dozens who'd already gathered. "Get up there!"

"Nope. No way. He's going."

Clark ignored Lois removing his effects from his pockets and instead occupied himself with regaling the present company with his recollection of the only other occasion between him and his now-fiancée that had involved a dunk tank. "So, if anything, I think it's time for a little payback!" he ultimately concluded, stirring up the crowd's support.

The only persons on hand who replied by objecting were Hair and Makeup, both of whom were prepared to resort to extreme measures to prevent the bride and the groom from getting even a drop of chlorine water on themselves. However, their being informed that the tank's water contained only a mild, natural purifier allayed their anxieties, and they accordingly gave their go-ahead for the current shenanigans.

"He was an all-state quarterback in high school!" shouted Lois, having soon been persuaded up onto the perch above the tank. "How is this fair?! Seriously!"

The crowd below, which had grown to include the entire wedding party and a hundred or so other onlookers, gleefully booed Lois's feigned complaints, while Clark made a show of stretching out his arm in preparation for his three tosses.

Once set, Clark accepted a football from the dunk tank's supervisor and stepped up to the line several strides off from the target. For the sake of the spectacle, he missed his first toss by quite a bit; his second, by still more. The bride mocked him. The adults jeered him. The kids rooted him on as loudly as possible.

As Clark wound up for his third and final toss, he gave Lois a smirk, which she returned with a knowing laugh. As expected, he followed through with perfect ease, nailed the target dead-on, and sent her plummeting down into the water with an enormous splash.

The crowd continued to whistle and cheer as Clark jogged over to the tank and ascended the ladder leading up to its brim. Once at the top, he bent down and reached out to a wading Lois, grinning, "Makes all the schmoozing worth it, right?"

"Nearly," she giggled, ignoring his offered hand and instead grasping his necktie to guide his lips down toward hers. "Wanna help make up for the rest of it?"

"If it means finally getting to kiss you today, then - Whoa!"

Before the groom realized what was happening, one sharp tug to his tie disrupted his balance and brought him tumbling over - landing him splat in the water next to the delighted bride.


	21. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Seven

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER SEVEN

* * *

Just half an hour after returning to the hotel from her impromptu dip with Clark, Lois emerged from her rooms. Hair and Makeup followed her, applying final touches to the loose knot in which the former had coiffed her hair and to the light coverage that the latter had applied to her face. As Lois entered the suite's living room, where most of the bridal party, all of its attendants, and even several of her first cousins were waiting, a number of groans and complaints echoed throughout the space.

"Good to see you guys, too?" she chuckled in response, just before glimpsing the glass bowl full of ones, fives, tens, and even twenties resting atop an end table. "What is that?"

Asher spoke up, telling her, "It's the pot. Most of us are unlucky enough to know how close to forever you can spend in a bathroom, so we took bets on how long it'd be before you got back out here."

Laughing still more, Lois asked who'd won, prompting her maid of honor to rise from his seat and collect his winnings. Lois congratulated him, and he smiled in acknowledgement while conveying the bowl to her. "Perhaps you'll find some use for this later," he quietly said.

With a knowing smirk, Lois dumped the cash into the duffel slung over her shoulder and then allowed Page to take the bag from her. In the process of so doing, she happened to get a better look at Bruce. Along with everyone else, he'd washed up and changed for the rehearsal luncheon. However, in contrast to the others, he'd opted against casual attire and had instead donned his favorite suit. It was a meticulously crafted three-piece ensemble distinguished by rich, dark fabric and a clean, close cut, but was appropriately dressed down by Bruce having foregone a necktie and left his shirt's top couple buttons unfastened. To Lois, it was plain that Bruce intended his appearance to draw attention - one person's in particular.

Shaking her head in amusement and fingering the single-breasted closure of his vest, Lois asked, "You couldn't think of anything else to wear, huh?"

A smile in his voice, Bruce replied, "Leaving aside that this suit is immaculate, I would remind you that it was a gift - one I take great pride in having received."

"He's already insanely jealous, you know. I doubt you can drive him any crazier."

"Worth having a go at it, though."

Taking Bruce's arm, Lois whispered to him, "I swear, between you and Ollie, it's a miracle Smallville's head has yet to explode…"

As the crowd then began to gather their things and head for the suite's front door, Oliver made his way to Lois, asking her, "Hey, speaking of green-eyed men in your life, when will you finally be honoring me with something trademark de Chevalier?"

"There are seventeen boutiques worldwide, Ollie. Nearest one's in NYC. Go get yourself something nice."

"Been there, done that, bought out half the store. And what better to round out my collection with than an original piece from an original de Chevalier? I mean, look, all due respect to your great-grandmother -"

"- _Great_-great-grandmother."

"Excuse me," replied Oliver, opening the front door for Lois. "All due respect to your _great_-great-grandmother, but even what comes out of her fashion house isn't as exclusive as what comes out of her heir's workroom."

"I'm nobody's heir, Queen."

"Tell that to the talent you're so hell-bent on keeping hidden. Oh, and don't forget to mention it to your trust fund too."

"Whatever. We're not having this argument again. My rule is my rule."

A number of the bride's cousins, Asher included, humorously reinforced Lois's latter statement, but Oliver detected an edge to their collective inflections that deterred him from continuing to pester her. As everyone split into groups small enough to board the penthouse floor elevators, he therefore took another tack and insisted that Bruce name a price, any price, for his three garments.

"Dream on, Oliver," interjected Dinah, whose brother was at her side. "They'll be completely ruined by the time you have them taken in enough to fit you."

Ignoring the snickers that filled the elevator, Oliver, his attention having been wholly diverted to Dinah, shuffled over to her and quietly asked how she'd liked the tabletop display of items he'd sent up to her rooms the moment he'd arrived at the hotel. The display consisted of a wide assortment of upmarket soaps, scrubs, creams, and perfumes accompanied by a lavish arrangement of her preferred flowers, hydrangeas. "I handpicked all of the toiletries," he added, obviously proud of himself. "The shoppe owner opened early for me, but I was still there for hours. Wanted to get everything just right for you; I know how keen you are on pampering yourself. That's why I missed the ceremony rehearsal."

Eyes still forward, Dinah coolly commented, "Shame you had to let your assistant go. She could've saved you all that trouble."

Oliver scoffed in offense, somehow managing to neglect the far weightier of Dinah's two intimations and to focus solely on the notion that he'd ever staff out the acquiring of a gift meant for her. Before he could protest, though, Lois pulled him away and then kept him back with her after they and their party got off the elevator.

Once the others were out of sight, Lois turned to Oliver, saying, "I swear, someone who didn't still dig your smug charm might think you were actually trying to make things worse with her."

"Aw, thanks, Legs. And so long as we're on the subject of how we feel about each other, -"

"We're not," muttered Lois, rolling her eyes as Oliver continued right along.

"- let me just say that I still dig every one of your traits, too. It's funny, time was, I couldn't get within a mile of an ex without trying to reignite at least the physical flame. But how's this for personal progress: Here I am standing opposite the only other woman I've loved and being spurred to no action whatsoever by my memories of how amazing we were together between the sheets."

Cocking her head at him, Lois returned, "You do recall that neither of our significant others would go for us getting groin-y again, right? Maybe that's what accounts for the lack of spur."

"Hmm… maybe that's the _only_ thing that accounts for it on your part," teased Oliver, inching into Lois's personal space. "Been thinking about us, huh? Wishing you could turn back the clock? Completely understandable, but I did warn you that my act would be impossible to follow."

Lois held her ground as Oliver slid his hands around her waist. "Get over yourself, jackass. The only thing impossible about your act are the odds of me ever headlining it again."

"God, I so enjoy how hard you fight still wanting me. Does wonders for my ego."

"Oh, for the love of Bono, Queen," huffed Lois, accepting that she'd get nowhere productive until she conceded to Oliver's needling. "You are hot as ever and I adore you right back, but none of that has anything to do with where I was going with my original statement."

"Well, wherever you're headed now, I hope you make a pit stop long enough to give me a little help. Because, I must confess, life on Birdie's bad side sucks beyond the telling of it."

"Then what the hell are you thinking? Nearly three years with her and you still don't get that trying to smooth over anything personal in public is only gonna dig you deeper into that hole?"

Oliver shrugged, "She speaks to me; I respond. There's nothing I can do about that."

"Fine. But for the sake of her temper and your health, don't engage her snark. Her family may still be rooting for you, but I'm betting that if you manage to piss her off one iota more than you have already, you won't make it through so much as this meal with a pulse."

"Good point. No engaging of the snark. I can do that." After another moment's consideration, though, Oliver added, "But, uh, do you suppose she'll be ready to talk things through sooner rather than later?"

"Beats me," replied Lois, having unconsciously begun fiddling with Oliver's blazer. "Why?"

"Why else? Whoever came up with that 'Out of sight, out of mind' crap never experienced someone like her. And God help me if I have to spend an entire weekend with her parents pretending that I don't miss their daughter in absolutely the worst way possible."

Giggling at his explanation, Lois asked him, "Were you gagging for it this hard when we were together?"

"Not whenever I was in the same room with your dad, that's for damn sure. Now, quit flirting with me and let's go get you some lunch."

…

_As if he doesn't have a thousand other suits to choose from_, thought Clark, eyeing Bruce as he and most of the others who'd been hanging around up in the bridal party's suite arrived in the hotel lobby.

Ambivalent as Clark had been toward Lois during the early years of their acquaintance, he hadn't thought much of her mending things around the Kent farm. She'd said at the time that while she was no hand at most other chores, she was confident that she could restore any fabric-based item to its original glory. Both he and his parents had been skeptical at first, but came around when Lois managed what even Martha couldn't in salvaging Jonathan Kent's favorite coat after its accidental run-in with a woodchipper. Nevertheless, Clark didn't begin to fully grasp Lois's gift until two months after her first stay with his family, when, as a thank-you for their hospitality, she sent them an intricately hand-crocheted tablecloth with an image of their home embroidered onto its center.

In the years since, Clark had discovered Lois to be not merely a style enthusiast but also a student of design and construction. She called it a hobby, something she'd learned from her mother, who'd learned it from hers, who'd learned it from hers, and so on. But her focus and dedication as she toiled away in her workroom, the sultry voice of a French jazz vocalist crooning from a pair of speakers, betrayed her efforts therein distinct from those she put toward fantasy football and video gaming.

She'd let Clark watch her work a few times, even giving him a lesson on knitting while she fashioned a pair of hand-warmers for her sister. Still, such instances, such insights into a world so sacred to her, were rare, leaving Clark to feel all the more excluded for his having never been granted any such mark of her affection as the suit her maid of honor presently wore. In as casual a manner as possible, Clark had once asked her why she never made anything for him, to which she'd gently explained that she'd long ago adopted her mother's disinclination for offering such intimate tokens to those with whom she had been or was involved.

"He's just trying to get a rise out of you," said an unmistakable voice, cutting short Clark's train of envious thoughts. "Ignore him."

Clark redirected his gaze to his fiancée as she appeared from behind him and squared herself to his side. In reply, he began to acknowledge that Bruce was succeeding, but he found himself too struck by Lois's appearance to do so.

Her more casual ensembles were some of his favorites of her looks; no one wore jeans and a shirt like she could. But her current outfit, which already comprised the dark-wash low-riders and plaid button-down he most preferred on her, happened to be made all the more striking by the upswept coif baring her throat and the black-rimmed eyeglasses adorning her face.

She'd dressed for him, head to toe - a not uncommon, although certainly not everyday, gesture that was as noticed and appreciated as she'd hoped it would be.

He smiled. She smiled.

"You look dry," Lois then quipped, wrapping her hands around Clark's upper arm. "Did you take a shower?"

He nodded, still gazing tenderly at her.

"I can tell; you smell nice. But, then, you always smell nice."

Before Clark could return her sentiment, Lois stretched up onto her toes to breathe him in. Unprepared for the close contact, he wavered a bit at the sensation of her lightly nuzzling his neck.

"Is that the body wash I like so much?" she quietly asked him, lifting her chin and leaning farther into him.

He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, struggling for his voice as she brushed her lips over the crest of his ear. "Um, y-yeah, I think it is," he finally managed to say.

He expected her to make some sort of reply - perhaps a teasing retort; perhaps a sarcastic gibe - but she didn't. Instead, she only paused for a quiet moment before exhaling a sigh and leaving his side.

…

The fifteen-minute ride to the rehearsal luncheon was both comfortable and hassle-free, thanks to both the convoy of limousines that the wedding planner had pre-arranged and the police escort that'd been necessitated by the Defense Secretary's attendance. Upon arriving at a four-star steakhouse - which, like the hotel in which most of the present company was staying, had been entirely let out - the hundred or so diners went directly to settling themselves in and making their initial requests of the waitstaff.

As the last of the drink orders were soon delivered, Jimmy rose, took up a fork, and clinked his glass with it. On cue, the crowd - which included the wedding party, the wedding planning team, and several dozens of the bride's and the groom's adult relatives - fell silent. For a second, Jimmy hesitated in addressing the large gathering. But, after chuckling away his nervousness, he reintroduced himself as a groomsman and as a years-long coworker and friend of Lois and Clark.

"What most of you may not know," he continued, "is that on Valentine's Day 2007, I set up Lois and CK on what would've been their first date. Long story short: It was a no-go. Because, you see, what I didn't appreciate back then was that something like what they share has to develop at its own pace, in its own time. Which, with a little less help from people like me, is exactly what it did. So, even as much as I'd liked to stand here and brag about having had some huge hand in starting the happy couple off on their road to this point, I can't. What I can do, though, is toast my two friends for making me a believer in the old saying that what's meant to be will be. Lois, CK, there's no denying that you took the long, winding way getting here. But you made it all the same and that's what matters most in the end… To the bride and groom."

The crowd raised their glasses along with Jimmy, and while the two objects of his admirations shared a warm glance, the others then congratulated him with a cordial round of applause.

Afterward, as everyone else returned to the conversations at their respective tables, Clark returned to the ruminations that'd occupied him since he and his fellow diners had departed the wedding site. On his arm, he could still feel Lois's hands - her fingertips shifting just slightly as she'd traced the musculature beneath his shirts. In his ear, he could still hear her parting sigh - her breath carrying with it an unmistakable inflection of desire.

Such engrossing thoughts left Clark almost entirely incapable of engaging those around him, and he spent the first two courses interjecting only the occasional comment while gazing over at Lois every chance he got. She was seated at a large table across the lively room, flanked by Aimée and Bruce, and in company with both her grandparents by blood and her grandparents by practice, as well as all three of Clark's adoptive aunts.

For decades, neither Clark's mother nor his father had been warm with either of their respective families. His mother, an only child born to Coast City, California's two highest-powered corporate attorneys, had met his father at Metropolis University when she was a second-year law student and he was a part-time undergraduate sophomore. Not six months into their courtship, after Jonathan's father, Hiram, followed his dear departed wife in death, Jonathan left school to run his family's farm full-time and asked Martha to join him in Smallville as his bride. Martha's parents, who found Jonathan's age, temperament, prospects, and way of life wanting, objected to his proposal and warned their daughter that she would forfeit their financial support if she accepted him. In defiance of their protests and threats, however, Martha ultimately chose to cut short her education, set aside her professional ambitions, and elope with the young man she loved. Ten years later, when she and Jonathan adopted Clark, Martha grew all the more estranged from both her immediate and her extended families when she and Jonathan, for fear of Clark exposing his then-unwieldy abilities, decided to refuse her parents any physical contact with their sole grandchild.

Jonathan, an only son and the eldest of four, spent nearly his entire adulthood similarly alienated from his nearest relations. After Hiram Kent passed, he and his wife's three daughters felt no longer bound to the remote town and struggling farm that their brother so romanticized. Accordingly, all three ended up settling in or near major cities of other states. And, as Jonathan made no secret of resenting what he deemed his sisters' abandonment of their family's legacy, they seldom returned to visit their childhood home.

Since Jonathan's death, Martha had reconciled with her aging parents. Her relationships with those of her extended family remained strained, however, much in the way her relationships with her late husband's sisters did. As it was, Benjamin and Michael Hubbard, who'd been Jonathan's best friends since childhood, were far closer to Clark than any of his parents' blood relations. When Clark had been just seven or eight, he'd caught a truck that'd suddenly fallen off its brace and he'd thus stopped it from crushing his godfathers, who'd been toiling away underneath it. The two men, his babysitters for the weekend, told his parents what'd happened as soon as they arrived to pick him up. And, after hearing about what the Kents believed to be their son's alien origins, Benjamin and Michael assured them that both Clark and his secret would always be safe with them.

"Honey, are you listening to me?"

Clark jumped, shaken out of his reminiscence of the last time his fiancée's touch had been more than slight; her breaths, more than sighing. "Uh, sorry, Mom," he replied guiltily, blinking away his haze. "What were you saying?"

Martha, who was seated on Clark's right, took a long look at her flustered son before gesturing toward Diana, who was seated on Clark's left. "She's hardly eaten a thing," remarked Martha in a low, concerned voice.

Clark glanced over at Diana's untouched second course as a waiter cleared it and the others' comparatively empty plates away. Lifting his hand to massage his brow, Clark struggled to recall the two dishes he'd apparently consumed, and absently replied to Martha with, "She's fine, Mom. She's just picky."

"Indeed, I am rather particular, Mrs. Kent," added Diana, who'd spent the past minute or so trying to reassure her. "I had hoped the fare here would agree with me, but I find that it does not."

"Perhaps you'd just prefer something else on the menu."

Clark, still rubbing his head, muttered, "Not if she didn't hunt, gather, or grow it herself."

Diana smirked at his retort and replied to his mother. "In truth, Bruce makes a point of having his chef keep a few prepped dishes on hand for me. There is sure to be something in the groom's suite I can put together later this evening."

Martha wouldn't hear of her going that long without a proper meal and insisted that Clark would be happy to go fix her whatever she had a taste for.

"I would?" said Clark, reluctant to abandon his view of the bride.

"Yes, you would. She must be starving."

Clark peered around at the others at their table, amongst whom were Martha's parents and Lois's uncles. They were talking amongst themselves, thus assuring Clark of their diverted attentions and allowing him to whisper to his mother, "She doesn't even get hungry."

"Is that true?" asked Martha, directing her gaze at Diana.

"It is."

"Are you like Clark in that way?"

"More or less."

Her notion confirmed, Martha replied, "Well, then, that only means you can get by eating very little, not that you can get by eating nothing at all. Now, Clark, stop teasing her and get a move on."

"She's as fast as I am; she can go herself."

Diana interjected, "He is correct. In any case, however, I should hate to be a bother. I am content to wait."

"Oh, it's no bother, dear," said Martha, looking affectionately at Diana and then sternly at Clark. "Is it?"

Having received what he recognized as his mother's final word, Clark took his napkin from his lap and asked Diana if she preferred anything specifically. She replied in the negative, and, after excusing himself, Clark got to his feet and headed off.

Lois, who'd just finished amusing those around her by re-telling the story of how she'd first met Clark, noticed her intended leaving his table. Catching his eye, she gave him a look that silently communicated her question as to whether his hearing had been triggered by some disaster. He shook his head and, just before disappearing behind the restaurant bar and down a corridor, gestured toward his mobile. A few seconds later, Lois's phone vibrated. Discreetly, she checked the text message, which conveyed that the groom was being sent by his mother on a meal run for his best man.

Content, Lois started to put away her phone, only to be stopped as she received an additional text. "Kiss me goodbye?" it read. With a smile, she wrote back, inquiring as to whether Clark was serious.

_Yes. I need 2 c u._

"Ask me nicely," she typed out and returned.

_R'rooms. Now. Plz._

Needing no further enticement, Lois slipped away from her table and grabbed Dinah from her family's.

"Are you kidding me?" complained the bridesmaid, having rounded two corners with the bride and nearly reached their destination. "What are you, five? You can't take yourself to the ladies?"

"It'd look suspicious if I went alone," said Lois, half-ignoring her.

"And how do you figure that?"

"Ugh. Since when did you start asking so many questions?"

Scoffing, Dinah retorted, "Since you made me a bridesmaid and I became responsible for your stir-crazy ass. So, let's try this one more time: Exactly why can't you take a leak by your lonesome - Ah, hell. Don't tell me you're sneaking off to go chase down some lead. Even Perry would bitch you out for pulling that today of all d -"

"- And I thought _I_ talked too freakin' much. Here. Hold this and watch the door."

Clutching the purse that Lois shoved into her hands, Dinah remarked with annoyance, "Oh, look, there goes my patience. Have you lost your damn mind, Lane?"

"Yes. It's official. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Dinah started to point out to Lois that she was headed into the men's room. But when she saw an arm reach around the bride's waist, drawing her farther inside and out of view, Dinah simply chuckled, shook her head, and turned around to stand guard.


	22. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Eight

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER EIGHT

* * *

No sooner had the men's room door swung closed behind her than he was pressing her back into it.

"Whoa," chuckled Lois, lifting a finger to his nearing lips. "Shouldn't you be fixing your girlfriend something to eat?"

Clark, his eyes hooded in focus on Lois's mouth, slid away her hand and leaned into her again, saying, "That'll only take a minute. I can be gone ten or so. She won't mind."

Lois couldn't resist mocking Clark's insistence and consequently ducked away from him. "Ten or so? So it wasn't a quick peck you were fishing for?"

Clark pulled her back to him and, in one smooth motion, reached down around her hips and hoisted her up into his arms. "It wasn't."

"You know, I really do think you should give this whole scenario a bit more thought, because it seems like exactly the kind of monkey business Ma Kent warned you against."

"Lois -"

"- Hey, I'm just trying to save you from a slow death by maternal scolding."

Having carried Lois away from the door and set her down on the countertop space between two sinks, Clark hastily thanked her for her consideration and attempted once more to close the distance from his lips to hers.

"Not so fast," smirked Lois, catching Clark's jaw and stopping him short. "I want it on the record that this was not my idea."

"Duly noted."

"And I want it understood that if we get caught, I am not taking the fall."

"Yes, ma'am."

Pointedly ignoring Clark's diminishing poise, Lois explained, "Because, frankly, even I'm not bold enough to initiate something this potentially criminal when I've got to sit back down at a table with all five of my grandparents afterwards. They can read me like a book; they'll know I've been up to no good. And, yeah, they won't much care, but my god-gramps lives to rib me about - "

"- Lois. Please. I'm begging you."

Clark's declaration prompted from Lois a low laugh. After a few more moments, though, her amusement gave way to an altogether different feeling as she took a breath, tilted her head to one side, and regarded her intended's countenance and bearing in earnest. It was all he could do to remain composed under the heat of her gaze, but even his best effort didn't long contain the need that'd begun to manifest throughout him, causing the tips of his fingers to tremble and the rises and falls of his chest to quicken. While he watched her eyes finally find their way back to his, she reached forward and slowly slipped his glasses off of his face.

"Begging me, huh?" she then asked him in a hushed voice, her eyes still on his as she removed her own glasses and set them aside, too.

Clark's mouth reflexively parted in order for him to shape a reply. However, Lois's arms draping around him, her fingers threading into his hair as she drew him closer to her overwhelmed his capacity for speech and left him to answer her with only a slight nod.

Lois hummed a teasing and yet doting sound in response and, just before her lips met her betrothed's, she whispered to him, "You really are hopeless, Baby…"

…

No sooner had the men's room door swung closed behind her than he turned the corner at the end of the corridor.

Dinah noticed him out of her periphery and, for the second time that day, her instincts got the better of her. She almost smiled, almost allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure his mere presence typically brought her. But, just as had happened when she first spotted him at the carnival, that initial response was overcome by her subsequent recollection of her grievance. Accordingly, she steeled herself, crossing her arms over her chest, straightening her back, and keeping her eyes forward.

"It's occupied," she curtly said to him as he reached her immediate area.

Oliver looked between Dinah and the men's room she was apparently guarding. The latter hadn't been his objective. In fact, it'd been Dinah's own mother, with whose family he'd been lunching, who'd sent him following behind the bride and the bridesmaid soon after the two women left their respective tables. He'd hesitated for just a moment, fearing that he would only further exasperate Dinah with his persistence. However, given a choice between irritating the woman presently before him and failing to comply with one of her parents, he'd quickly decided upon the former.

In finding Dinah alone and in hearing her brief comment, he mistook neither the meaning of her words nor the iciness with which they were uttered. Holding firm, though, he asked her if she minded him waiting out the bride and the groom. Dinah responded only by looking farther away from him, which Oliver interpreted as her grudging permission. Accordingly, he ambled over to the opposite side of the corridor and leaned his back into the wall.

The two of them stood in silence for a minute or so while the soft, ambient music playing throughout the restaurant filled the air. Neither could be otherwise than acutely aware of the other. One had no idea of what to say, where to begin; the other, a perfect idea of what and where, but also a dread of where such a discussion might lead.

At length, a muffled, masculine moan resounded from within the men's room, through its door, and out into the corridor. Oliver, his eyes on the floor, answered the echo with a distinctly disdainful snort just before his gaze and his attention were drawn upward by Dinah addressing him.

"I've every certainty Sugar is just that easy, but is Lane also just that good?"

Oliver didn't miss a beat, keeping a straight face as he claimed that Dinah had caught him off guard and that he hadn't heard her question.

Dinah scoffed at his evasion and, as she shifted her stance and withdrew her gaze from him once more, said, "Well, she must be doing something right. I doubt Sugar would be risking his mother's fury, not to mention an arrest for public indecency, otherwise."

Oliver started to reply that he was capable of sympathizing with the groom on at least that one point, given his own recent separation from the woman in his life. But he worried about fumbling the wording and implying that which he did not necessarily mean. What's more, the bride's advice to him at the hotel, to say nothing of Dinah's present posture, deterred him from launching into any declarations of regret or affirmations of devotion. He therefore took Dinah's cue, falling back into silence with her while he began ruminating over how they'd come so far only to wind up at their present impasse.

They'd been acquainted for only a matter of weeks before acting on the mutual attraction that'd been sparked on the night of their official introduction. After several months of dates, trips, and trysts, though, Oliver began to find their casual understanding wanting. Alas, he knew that Dinah - shrewd, dispassionate, and possessed not of a gentle heart - deemed him as little more than fun; their time together, little more than a fling. He accordingly struggled with his ever-deepening affection for her, only to be ultimately overtaken by it in the midst of one of their weekend holidays. After having woken Dinah in order to profess to her his regard and his wishes, he brought himself to ask her for an appraisal of himself and of his potential as a love interest for her. More than once, she resisted answering him, suspecting that no one had ever been as frank with him as she was fully prepared to be. He maintained his resolve, however, and she was eventually persuaded to grant him the candor on which he was so intent.

"_You learned earlier on than most how brutal life can be. And I am sorry about your mom and dad. I know you feel haunted by them; you wear that on your sleeve. But it's been fifteen years, and you've yet to so much as attempt to make peace with their passings. Instead, you've warped your grief into an excuse to habitually indulge your basest impulses: your vanity, your lust, your rage. Everyone, even the sanest, most no-nonsense of the women you've been involved with, lets you get away with that. They pity you; they enable you; they ask nothing more from you than what little you offer in the way of substance. But my standards are not theirs. I won't be someone's doormat, someone's crutch, someone's glue. I won't invest myself in someone who's always this close to hurtling himself over the edge yet again._

"_There's plenty to like about you, Oliver. And I do believe you have it in you to become more than just the sum of your very charming, very handsome parts. But it's not my job and, despite how much I do care for you, it's not my inclination to help you along the way. Besides, if any change in you is going to last, then you're going to have to want it for yourself, for your parents, not for the hope of 'us'... because I won't wait for even you."_

Oliver had never known shame before that morning. But as he absorbed the impact of Dinah's words, with which she'd also ended both their holiday and their affair, he began to grasp for the first time his failings as a lover, as a friend, and, most of all, as a son. Rather than shrink from his newfound awareness, though, he dedicated himself from that day forward to becoming a better person and a better man, one of whom his parents would've been proud.

Over the course of the next year, during which he took up meditation and gave up his recreational use of drugs and alcohol, he grew closer to Dinah as an ally and a confidant even while she fell in and out with a succession of men, amongst whom was her college beau, Craig Windrow, who ultimately made the mistake of proposing to her. Nonetheless, the loss of civilian lives during the Doomsday debacle sent all those who held themselves responsible reeling. Dinah recovered in time, but Oliver remained mired in guilt and regret for so long that he went so far as to make an attempt on his own life. Horrified upon hearing that news, Dinah and her crime-fighting fellows banded together and managed to save their troubled ally from himself.

After realizing what the team had done for him, Oliver expressed his gratitude to each of them, paying the last of his thanks to Dinah. As he stood with her in her apartment's kitchen, watching her arrange the hydrangeas he'd brought her and holding fast to his new lease on life, he couldn't but muse aloud that the woman who'd rejected him over a year ago wouldn't have gone so far in helping restore his faith in himself. He asked Dinah what had changed and, meeting his gaze, she replied that it had been not a "what" but a "who." She'd watched Oliver become less cavalier, less impetuous; she'd watched him grow out of his narcissism, his inability to feel any pain or pleasure but his own. Encouraged, Oliver pressed Dinah further on her altered views and soon drew the acknowledgement that she'd begun to reciprocate his wish for them being together. He positively beamed and promptly whisked her away for a candlelit dinner at her favorite restaurant, during which they worked out the terms of their commitment and after which they consummated their new relationship.

As Oliver thought back to that night, to the emotion and exhilaration he'd felt in holding Dinah as his for the first time, he couldn't help glancing over in her direction. To his alarm, though, he found that she'd shifted to an all the more menacing stance and had been glowering at him. He started to ask her how he'd made matters worse, but she preempted his question by demanding to know what he was doing there.

"You hardly ever go near public facilities even when your back teeth are floating - which they evidently aren't right now," she went on to reason. "So why the hell are you here?"

The answer was obvious, but Oliver supposed he'd incur less of Dinah's wrath by placing the blame for his presence squarely where it belonged. "Dee sent me," he thus stated with a shrug.

Dinah rolled her eyes and looked away. In Oliver's reply, she could practically hear her mother warning her against returning to their table without having settled things with him one way or the other. Indeed, Dee had been urging her to face him for weeks, but it hadn't been until Oliver turned up at the carnival that she'd lost what little patience she had with Dinah's delay. In speaking with her daughter while she washed up for the luncheon, Dee gave voice to precisely what fear she knew had been keeping Dinah from her inevitable confrontation with the man currently opposite her. Dinah had chafed as much then as she did at present. Still, knowing what extremes Dee would surely go to if forced to endure another moment of her namesake's unhappiness ultimately convinced Dinah that she had no choice but to obey her mother's command.

"All right," she consequently huffed, setting Lois's purse at her feet and squaring herself to Oliver. "If she wants us to have this out, then let's have it out."

Oliver, taken aback, peered down the empty, though still very much public, corridor as he asked, "Here? Now?"

"Here. Now."

He could see that Dinah was determined, and although the openness of their setting gave him a moment's pause, he wouldn't be deterred from the opportunity for which he'd been waiting. Quickly, he gathered his thoughts and prepared to pick up where he'd left off at the carnival. Dinah, however, would hear none of his apologies and declared that the only thing she wanted was an explanation.

"How could you do this to her?" she went on to demand of him. "As outstanding a job as she'd always done for you, as much as you'd grown to trust her, how could you?"

Oliver hung his head as he heard in Dinah's voice not only anger but also disappointment. Nevertheless, he forced himself to look her in the eye once more as he replied, "We'd been working around the clock. I figured we'd just blow off some steam and then get back to business. Had I known how she really felt about me, I would've turned her down."

"So you're copping to sheer stupidity?"

Dinah's response, as pitiless as could be, insulted Oliver. Taking to the defensive, he claimed that he had no reason to so much as suspect that his longtime executive assistant had begun falling for him.

Dinah felt her temper flare, warming her face and constricting her jaw. "Now is not the time for you to discover humility," she cautioned him. "Never mind your education, your manners, your charm. You're tall, blonde, beautiful, and you come from money that's older than this country. So don't pretend you were shocked to learn your partner in professional crime had developed something other than a platonic affection for you. Of course she had. Of course she hoped for more than a one afternoon stand. And of course she was hurt when she realized she wouldn't get it."

Oliver scoffed, "And that justifies her threatening to sue me for sexual harassment?"

"She was upset. People lob all sorts of threats when they're upset, and you absolutely deserved that shot."

"Because I didn't read her goddamn mind?"

"No, asshole! Because you didn't even try to!" returned Dinah at as low a volume as possible. "You cannot be so reckless with people's feelings. You just can't. It's not humane. It's not fair. All you had to do was forget your libido long enough to appreciate that most friendships don't survive physical turns. But as it is, your lapse back into promiscuity has cost you the only colleague you've ever been close to. For god's sake, she mattered to you. You cared about her…"

As focused as Oliver was on Dinah's rebuke for his lack of discretion, he took no notice of the change in her tenor while she'd remarked on his fondness for his now-former assistant. "You're right, I did care about her. I still do," he replied. "But, not for nothing, she's always known about the arrangement between you and me. If anything, that's why it didn't occur to me that we might not be on the same page."

"So, again, I ask: You're copping to sheer stupidity?"

Oliver cocked his head at Dinah in defiance, but the glare with which he was met soon humbled him into remembering how much he truly regretted his actions. After a pause, he thus shifted his stance and eased his tone, saying, "Look, I know I didn't think things through. I shouldn't have crossed that line with a co-worker - never mind a co-worker who was also a friend. And because I did, I misled her and I disappointed you. My hand to God, this won't happen again."

Dinah averted his gaze, mulling his contrition. As much as she wanted to accept it, a more consequential matter still lingered in her thoughts, and she sighed to herself, "Or maybe it will…"

Oliver didn't hear her well enough to be certain of what she'd said, but the inflection of pain in her voice was unmistakable. Worried, he started to approach her, asking her what was the matter.

Dinah crossed her arms again and recomposed herself, thus repelling Oliver back to his side of the corridor. With a firm voice, she then managed to begin addressing the root of her concerns. "Is this the start of something for you, Oliver? Are you becoming dissatisfied with just us? Because if you are, if you need more than one romance, then I do respect that. But I am not prepared to renegotiate our relationship to accommodate that term, so -"

"- Hold on. I'm completely lost here. What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" she replied in disbelief and vexation. "I'm talking about the fact that you screwed a familiar, someone important to you! Which leaves me wondering if, in some way, your little romp with her wasn't entirely casual. And, you know, I had just, just over the course of these last few months, managed to get my head and heart around the notion of you as _the_ guy, of this as _the_ relationship. But -"

Although still confused, Oliver was growing increasingly fearful of the conclusion toward which Dinah seemed to be building, and he broke in with, "- Whoa. No buts. There are no buts to that. I am _the_ guy. This is _the_ relationship. Have you… You've been thinking about quitting me?"

Dinah had found her anger again and, if only to numb the anguish she felt, had firmly rooted herself in it. Coldly, she thus bit back, "No, I've been _planning_ on quitting you."

Stunned, Oliver returned, "Because I did something promiscuous?"

"Because I made clear from our beginning that I have zero tolerance for infidelity."

All of a sudden, the attitudes and behaviors that'd confounded Oliver for weeks made perfect sense. Dinah's initial rage, her prolonged avoidance, her present doubts - he understood them as he finally grasped the true weight of his transgression. Contrary to his prior notion, he'd done more than simply upset her; he'd hurt her. And as that realization struck him, cutting straight through to his core, he instinctively crossed the corridor and reached out to her, saying, "Oh, God, I am so sorry, Birdie. I am so -"

"- Sorry? _Sorry_?" she echoed in a full voice, jerking away from him in disgust. "Just who the hell do you think you're dealing with? I am not your halo-headed ex-girlfriend!"


	23. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Nine

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER NINE

* * *

Both Dinah and Oliver reflexively peered over the former's shoulder at the men's room door, knowing that the pair opposite it had in all likelihood heard Dinah's eruption. Frustrated as much with herself as her situation, Dinah abandoned her post and retreated a few steps away to the end of the corridor. Oliver, his emotions running as high as hers, followed her to the slightly more secluded space and immediately resumed their exchange.

"My 'halo-headed ex-girlfriend'? You mean Lois."

"I couldn't mean anyone else."

"Obviously. But since when do you draw any comparison whatsoever between you and her on the subject of being with me?"

"Since right the hell now!" hissed Dinah, struggling to keep her voice down and her temper in check.

"Why? Lois and I haven't been official for over five years and we haven't been casual since I started falling for you. So what the hell does my past have to do with our present?"

"_Everything_, given how much of your bullshit my predecessor and your only other love let slide! But unlike Lane, I don't have some near-infinite capacity for forgiveness. When it comes to you fucking up, I don't give a damn about your intentions or your character. I care about your actions, about what you've done. And there is no manner or degree of betrayal that I'd excuse any man for based solely on how sorry about it he claimed to be."

Oliver scoffed in both astonishment and indignation, nearly incited to an outburst of his own. Nevertheless, he contained himself long enough to appreciate what was at stake in his reply to Dinah's charge, and, after a necessary and protracted pause, he grated out, "Is there anything you want to add to that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is there anything else you have to say?"

Dinah could tell by Oliver's strained calm that she'd struck an especially sensitive cord. But rather than allow her sympathy for his reaction to shake her position, she dug in all the more, answering him with only silence and a fixed jaw.

Her obstinacy, however unsurprising it was, roiled Oliver's emotions beyond the point of his restraint, rendering every word with which he answered her more feeling than the one before it. "Let me be clear: Yes, I betrayed my commitment to Lois," he admitted, his remorse palpable. "I lied to her, I endangered her, I was never as present in our relationship as she was. But on the too-long list of ways that I failed her when we were together, you will not find infidelity. I don't cheat, Dinah." His use of her first name - a rarity, indeed - lent to his assertion an undeniable weight, and he watched Dinah's rigidity gradually ease as he went on. "Whatever the terms of my relationships, whatever the lines drawn, I have always honored them. Nothing could so much as tempt me to do otherwise, to disrespect any woman - to say nothing of my upbringing and myself - like that. And the only woman who would accuse me of anything different likes to forget that we were on a clean break when I was tipping that waitress."

In silence, Dinah absorbed Oliver's acknowledgments and contentions. They'd affected her; of that much, Oliver was certain. But even as Dinah took a breath and assumed a more receptive stance, Oliver recognized how raw her feelings still were. After thinking for a few moments, he thus quieted his tone and attempted to assuage her.

"You've always said my actions are what matter most to you, right? Okay. For the record: I've spent two god-awful weeks banished from your life and I haven't fallen apart. I haven't gone off on some bender. I'm still working, still patrolling. I still meditate and I still train. The one thing I've done that I'm not proud of is nearly bail on this wedding. But I made it, didn't I? I'm here. Not for you and not for us, but for Lois - who, even for as busy as she was at that summit, still called me twice every day just to talk, just to make sure I was spending at least some of my time not agonizing over you. And never once did she try to change my mind about this weekend. God love that woman, because no one else deserves to."

Dinah couldn't but be comforted. If nothing else, she believed how much Oliver felt for Lois. He'd adored her since before Dinah had known him, but he'd grown all the more invested in her, all the more protective of her while watching another man deceive her in a manner similar to and yet gallingly more egregious than the way he had when they'd been officially involved. Even so, it wasn't until that man's deceit carried Lois to the brink of death that Oliver's devotion to her reached its present depths.

Dinah recalled that night with pained clarity. She'd rushed to the hospital, expecting to find Oliver shouting at any staff member who would listen and demanding to know the credentials of the surgical team operating on Lois. Instead, she found him, blood on his knuckles and tears in his eyes, seated quietly in the far corner of a waiting room. He was devastated, inconsolable. Even two years later, he couldn't speak of that night without his voice catching and, just as he'd demonstrated moments ago, he couldn't so much as hear Lois mentioned without his sensibilities heightening.

That he was capable of such strength of feeling for someone to whom he was bound by neither blood nor oath assured Dinah of his genuineness when it came to all things concerning herself. For that reason, for the tenderness Lois inspired in those discerning enough to appreciate her nature, Dinah held her high in her esteem. She couldn't empathize with her; they were too dissimilar at their cores. But she could and did admire her for the qualities that distinguished her from anyone else she'd ever known, a sentiment to which she attested as she offered a hushed response to Oliver's mention of Lois's most recent kindness toward him.

"She makes for a terrible bride; she's too damn concerned about everybody but herself. That's Lane for you, though. And she can't help what she is."

Oliver, grateful for the sound of something other than pique in Dinah's voice, nodded his agreement. "That said," he then added, "she'd want me focused on you right now, not her."

Dinah sighed and looked off to the side, silently conceding to his point. A moment or two later, she noticed him take a tentative step into her immediate area and she heard his voice soften still more as he addressed her.

"Since the night we formally met," he said, "I've pursued something serious with exactly two other women besides you. Technically, Lois and I had already agreed to keep things between us on hold; I still couldn't commit to her fulltime just yet and neither of us wanted to risk what we'd already established by forcing things. But we did stay involved, even if not exclusively, for another few months. So it'd be disingenuous of me to not count her, seeing that she and I always assumed we'd reconcile for good someday. Obviously, neither of us predicted my interest in you becoming… more.

"As for Tess, the only reason I got it into my head to try again with her was because of how desperate I was to move on after you shot down the idea of romance with me. Do you remember that episode between me and Mercy? You laughed afterward when I told you that what was a night of reconciliation for me was only a night of closure for her. You said I had her rejection coming not just because I hadn't matured enough to deserve a second chance with her, but also because any man who falls for you has ruined himself for all other women."

Oliver's reminiscence drew from Dinah a small, fleeting smile.

Taking that as encouragement, he found her eyes and held them as he promised her, "I committed an act of stupidity, 'sheer stupidity,' not an act of infidelity. That afternoon wasn't intimate - not for me, anyway. I'd never betray us like that. I'd never betray you. I am yours and only yours, Birdie. What we have - it's special to me, it's different. I don't want anything like it with anyone else… I don't want anyone but you."

For several subsequent moments, the air of the corridor was again filled with only the ambient sounds of the restaurant. In time, Dinah ended the lull by asking Oliver whether he had anything more he wanted to say, to which he replied by asking her whether there was anything more he needed to.

"…No, love," she told him, exhaling away her remaining anxieties and relaxing back into the wall behind her. "Consider me convinced."

With that assurance, the tension throughout Oliver released and a smile bloomed across his face. Dinah smirked as she watched him direct a thank-you skyward and then, beside himself with relief, reach out to touch her, only to catch himself when he thought the better of presuming so far so soon.

After Oliver had spent the next several moments trying to find something to do with his hands, resting them on his sides and then tucking them into his pants pockets, Dinah told him that he could have someone at the hotel move his things to her rooms. "I rain-checked my date before we left the carnival," she explained.

Oliver took a beat, tipping his head in appreciation for Dinah's consideration, before he nonetheless maintained, "You didn't have to do that, especially given where we stood two hours ago."

"Oh, I know."

Dinah's retort, coupled with her invitation, prompted a still wider smile from Oliver, but that smile soon wavered a bit as his eagerness to embrace her took hold of him yet again. Fortunately, though, a means of diversion occurred to him. Seeming almost nervous, he cleared his throat and reached for something in an inner pocket of his blazer, saying, "I guess now's as good a time as it gets for this…"

Upon Oliver producing a small jewelry box bearing the Queen family crest, Dinah visibly recoiled. "What is that?" she demanded to know.

"It's an apology gift. It's, uh… courtesy of the family jeweler."

Oliver's explanation both dispelled Dinah's initial concern and accounted for his apparent unease. All the same, his unprecedented offering carried with it no small significance, taking Dinah more than somewhat aback. "Did you run this by at least one of your grandparents?" she asked him, obviously weighing whether and how best to decline.

"Didn't have to; it was Paps's idea. Gran pretty adamantly seconded, though. She said, quote, 'I well know how insufferable Queen men can often be, but there's no apology that custom jewels ever hurt.' Anyway, they send their love and they hope you'll accept these."

Dinah peered down as Oliver opened the box to reveal an arresting pair of chandelier earrings, their intricate design featuring a series of canary-yellow diamonds.

When a lengthy interval passed without a reaction from Dinah, Oliver broke in with, "Look, _my_ idea was to make the best of a bad situation and get you your dream Ducati, seeing as you've yet to let me treat you to it under everyday circumstances. Which, for the billionth time, is ridiculous. In my eyes, there's no such thing as 'extravagance' when it comes to making you happy. If you want something, then I want you to have it - end of story. Anyway, though, I think Gran and Paps sensed I'd screwed up worse than I realized, so they insisted on me going bigger by going smaller. Of course, had I known then what I know now, I would've commissioned something microscopic."

Ignoring Oliver's attempt at levity, Dinah finally looked back up and, regarding him tenderly, took the box from his hands. "Thank you. They're stunning," she smiled, watching him swell with pride. "Not that the bike wouldn't have sufficed."

With a sly look of disapproval, Oliver returned to his inner pocket, saying, "Suffice? Tsk, tsk. The minimum simply will not do for my Birdie. She deserves not either-or… but both."

Dinah's jaw dropped as Oliver presented her with a pair of motorcycle keys, a small, decorative bow tied around them. "Oh, get out!" she quietly exclaimed. "Are you serious?!"

Oliver grinned and nodded, savoring her delight. "I'm having my guy trick it out for you, so it won't be ready for another few weeks. But I figure that's fine, since we'll still be abroad."

"We?" asked Dinah, pleased all the more. "You're back to joining us on the buddymoon too?"

"Hmm, four weeks city-hopping along the French Riviera? I'm definitely there. As long as I'm still welcome, of course."

"Something tells me the happy couple will be too preoccupied to care about their company."

"You're probably right. But you know that's not what I meant." Having adopted a more earnest tone, Oliver inched a bit closer to Dinah and gently said, "You look unbelievable, by the way. Did you do something to your hair? You did, I can tell. It's shorter. Just barely, though."

Dinah chuckled at Oliver's discernment and told him that she'd gotten a slight trim, nothing drastic.

"Well, it looks great," he replied, too fixated on her flowing coif to notice her glancing past him and catching sight of someone entering the opposite end of the corridor. "Not that I'd mind seeing 'drastic' on you again."

"Why, because pixie length makes me even more of a dead ringer for Dinah Senior?"

Feigning shock, Oliver denied ever noticing Dinah's uncanny resemblance to her mother. "Granted, I'd intend it as nothing but a compliment if I were to say you favor her. Dee is an incredibly beautiful, incredibly sexy woman - and I don't mean 'for her age.' I'm telling ya', Birdie, had I met her without knowing who she is to you -"

Dinah, making at least some attempt to save Oliver from himself, smirked, "- You really shouldn't finish that thought, love."

"Why?" he teasingly returned. "Have you suddenly discovered a little thing called jealousy?"

"Hell no. But that doesn't mean you're allowed to crush on my mom."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit," returned an unmistakable voice from directly behind Oliver.

…

Only the occasional word or two had managed to draw Lois's notice thus far. But when one of her bridesmaids erupted at another with a harsh rebuke, her concern for the couple outside the men's room overtook her longing for the man inside it. Distracted, she broke away from the groom, prompting him to utter a low groan of protest.

Upon opening his eyes, Clark followed Lois's line of sight as she glanced over at the door. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked her through ragged breaths.

Lois lowered her head and exhaled a sharp sigh, regretting her diverted thoughts. In many ways, she was grateful that Dinah had evidently begun to vent the anxieties she'd been suppressing. Still, knowing as Lois did the depth of Oliver's affection for herself, she sensed how pained his reaction would be to have had her connected even tangentially to an already tender matter. What's more, she feared the certainty of Clark experiencing a similar reaction were he to have perceived the allusion to her forgiveness of Oliver's duplicity and were he to inevitably relate it to her forgiveness of his own.

"Are you all right?"

Clark's feeling question drew Lois's gaze upward. Even with his eyes dark and his chest heaving, his concern for her was paramount. Hands shaking from want, he brushed a few stray tresses away from her face, circled an arm around her to rub her back, and waited patiently for a response.

Lois studied him a bit further, but, in the end, she found no hint of the remorse she'd feared surfacing. "You didn't hear that?" she whispered.

"Hear what?"

Lois smiled a bit, feeling both relieved and affected by Clark's reply. Of course he hadn't heard anything, she realized; he couldn't hear anything but her when he was wrapped up in their desire. After thus taking a breath and deferring her distraction, she slid off of the countertop and grasped her fiancé's sides.

Clark felt his blood stir all over again when Lois trained her eyes on his mouth and began walking him backward toward the farthest stall. "I-I thought you, um - What was wrong?" he managed to eventually ask her.

"Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?" he pressed, just as a porcelain seat halted his retreating steps. "Because we don't have to keep - I mean, we could just -"

"- Stop?" Lois said for him, still focused on his mouth as she shut the stall door behind them.

Clark didn't trust himself to articulate his reply with conviction and simply nodded instead.

At another time, Lois may have paused to tease him for his obvious misgiving. But intent as she was on enjoying every remaining second of their interlude, she sat him down, settled herself on top of his thighs, and whispered only a curt "No, thanks" as she captured his lips.

He needed no further assurance.

His eyes closed, his arms around her, he relished the pressure of her on him, the warmth of her against him. Instinctively seeking more contact, he slid his hands underneath the backs of her shirts and drew her farther into his lap. She mewled a trembling exhale at the sensation of his fingertips against her skin, and, arching into him, she deepened their kiss. Her response heated and hardened him still more. Knowing that he could ignite her passion, an element so fundamental to her nature, knowing that she could derive pleasure from even the slightest contact with him not only heightened his arousal but also further strengthened the confidence that had come to displace his former insecurities.

In the years prior to their romance, she'd always been perfectly frank about deeming him attractive. At best, though, she described him as "cute," "fit," or simply "good-looking" - bloodless estimations all. What's more, she only ever remarked on his appearance while also remarking on something about his character - his idealism or his naïveté, for instance - that she found odd. For that reason, he'd dreaded that even if he did manage to overcome his fear of harming her, he would inevitably disappoint her in their physical relationship. He worried that she'd find him tedious, unremarkable. He worried that her thinking him attractive would never translate into her feeling attracted to him. And given how enrapt by her he'd grown to be, it crushed him to imagine that she might never reciprocate the yearning for her that density had initially kept him from grasping and decency had subsequently kept him from pursuing.

His apprehensions had been steadily dispelled, however, as they eventually began consummating their relationship. She'd been encouraging, helping him to learn her needs and embrace his own. She'd been patient, guiding him in exploring the many aspects and avenues of intimacy that he'd not yet traveled. However, even as he became more practiced in intuiting and attending her, it'd been clear to him from their start that technical proficiency alone would never sate her. What she longed for above all was something within him to which only lovemaking allowed her direct access, and, whatever that something was, he needed only be present in their moment to offer it. She articulated as much even when they weren't together. Whether plainly or subtly, whether with words or without, she never let him forget that she wanted him. Nonetheless, even for as affecting as her affirmations and flirtations indeed were, he'd always considered the most gratifying of her assurances to be those beyond her control, those that only experiencing her revealed.

When they were intimate, his susceptibility to her sensations increased just as exponentially as his threshold for her physical responses decreased. She could steal his breath, make him sweat. She could mark him, exhaust him. As a result, he could perceive every uptick in her temperature, every deepening in the ruddiness of her complexion without any of the deliberate effort he was obliged to make under less heady circumstances. Even the slightest change in her breathing rate or heart rate triggered his hearing, amplifying the volume in his ears to deafening levels whenever he touched her just so.

In truth, he'd never fully reconciled the woman who still mocked him for his modesty with the woman who needed hardly any space and even less opportunity to lose herself to him. All he was certain of was the comfort and, moreover, the pride he took in being the object of her relentless desire.

Curiously, though, that desire wasn't what Lois attested to at present as she angled her head to the other side and whispered a plaintive sentiment before reinitiating her contact with her betrothed.

"God, I miss you…"

Clark, heartened but confounded, savored the sweep of her tongue against his and then answered her with a why.

"Why what?" she absently replied.

Between kisses, Clark told her that she'd reiterated the sentiment she'd shouted at him earlier, and that he couldn't remember her ever using that phrase in that context before - let alone twice in one day. Lois, having not even realized that she'd again articulated what she'd been feeling since Clark returned from his recent journey, reflexively paused in response to his remark. Her face flushed as she considered both her slip and its basis. But, eager to hide her embarrassment, she said nothing in reply to the groom's original question and simply resumed their kiss. To her exasperation, though, both her silence and the warming of her cheeks struck his notice, prompting him to pull away from her lips and then wait in silence until she finally opened her eyes to meet his.

"Why?" he then repeated in a low, heartfelt tone.

There was no dissuading him from the curiosity that had become concern; he'd bear with her for as long as she needed. Still, she delayed the inevitable by forcing a laugh and insisting that he couldn't expect her explanation to make any sense, given that she was saving what little eloquence she was capable of for the vows she'd yet to compose. "Besides," she added, "schmaltz-talk is your thing, not mine."

His gravity unchanged, Clark rested his hands on Lois's upper arms and began rubbing her shoulders, giving her awkward humor a moment to pass. Once it had, he asked her in a still quieter voice, "Why, Sweetheart?"

His endearment had its intended effect, quelling, even if not eliminating, Lois's unease. Nonetheless, she hardly knew how best to convey her thoughts and, with a shrug, she said the first thing that came to her mind: "I don't know, Smallville. Because you don't lie to me when we're together?" Instantly regretting both her reply and the wounded expression it brought to Clark's face, Lois quickly and clumsily attempted to clarify. "I'm not saying that you lie to me at other times. Or, at least, I'm not saying that you do it anymore, because, obviously, before you finally came clean about the whole Blur situation - Why am I even bringing that up?" she huffed at herself, sitting back in Clark's lap and running her hands across her face in frustration.

After taking several moments to gather herself and her thoughts, Lois dug deep and tried once more. "Listen, what I mean is, you _can't_ lie to me when we're together. When we're together, there's something… raw, like, brutally vulnerable about you. And it's not just in how your body and your abilities respond to me. It's in… Well, I don't know, but it's honest in a way that's out of your control. And when you're like that, I feel the things I can usually only see or hear. I feel you… your innocence, I guess. And when I feel that, it reminds me - reassures me, really - about why I'm with you… why we're here."

Seeing that she'd finished, Clark nodded in complete understanding and wrapped his arms back around her, asking, "Are you having doubts?"

With a softened expression, Lois smiled a bit and shook her head. "It's just that a gentle reminder never hurts," she explained.

After taking in her reply and regarding her in silence for several moments, Clark lifted a hand to cradle her cheek and to brush the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. "'Gentle,' huh?"

Lois shuddered at his tenderness despite herself. "Please, don't do that," she then said, beginning to retreat away from him and off of his lap. "Not here. Not when we're -"

Drawing her back, Clark silenced her protestations with a long, lingering kiss. When he eventually eased away, he whispered to her, "I can be gentle…"

"I haven't forgotten," sighed Lois, her eyes still closed as her thoughts drifted to when last she and her intended had been together.

They'd spent the day before he left for his best man's homeland entwined with one another and the morning of his departure saying their goodbyes. She was therefore surprised to find him in his shower when she dropped by their apartment to retrieve a file during her lunch break. He told her that Diana was running late and wouldn't be by to collect him until a bit later in the afternoon, prompting Lois to invite him along with her to grab a bite. He, however, preferred to stay in. With a knowing smile, she reminded him that they'd kept each other up for most of the previous night and that her morning workout just a few hours ago had been especially taxing. Dripping wet, he stepped out of the shower, scooped her up, and, carrying her off toward his bedroom, promised her that what he had in mind would ask nothing more of her than her time.

"Let's leave. Let me take you somewhere," murmured Clark, coaxing the bride's thoughts back to the present as he dotted his lips along her jawline.

Lois warmed at his overture, but nonetheless reminded him of his mother's mandate. "Aren't you still afraid of Mommie Dearest going for your jugular?"

"Maybe she'd spare me for your sake. She's always had a soft spot for you."

"And what about Her Divine Majesty?" returned Lois. "Do you think she'd mind waiting for you again?"

Lois's teasing allusion halted Clark's trail down her neck and dropped his brow to her shoulder. Following their last moments of intimacy, he'd left her to lounge in his bed while he went to fix them something for lunch. After exiting a hallway and entering their apartment's great room, he stopped in his tracks upon discovering Diana perched over on a kitchen barstool, casually reading a newspaper and helping herself to a cup of tea. After initially being too stunned to move, he turned to peer back down the hall at his bedroom, its wide open door having been thusly situated for the past half-hour. Blushing already, he then turned back to Diana and asked her when she'd arrived, to which she'd replied with a smirk, "Thirty minutes ago."

Lois chuckled at how mortified Clark still was. "I thought you liked your girlfriend coming and going as she pleases. Isn't that the whole point of you never locking the balcony doors behind you? Besides, if she heard anything -"

"- She heard _everything_," muttered Clark.

"Well, then, she only heard me. And I couldn't care less, so what's the big deal?"

He answered with a groan.

"Look, how about this: From here on out, on the off chance that you have company and we don't realize it… I'll be quiet."

Recognizing but distrusting Lois's jest, Clark immediately looked up and, solemnity on his face and in his tone, asked her, "You are just kidding, right?"

Lois laughed, preparing to taunt him a bit more, but their exchange was interrupted by the sound of the men's room door swinging open and Dinah urging Lois to get a move on.

"That's my cue," said Lois, pressing a quick peck goodbye to Clark's cheek. "This was fun, by the way. I can't believe you ever had a complex about being too vanilla for me. Vanilla is so not the same thing as boring."

Lois had begun to disappear before Clark even realized what was happening. Once he had, though, he quickly got to his feet and reached past her to hold the stall door closed just as she tried to open it. Smirking, Lois turned back, expecting that Clark still needed her to confirm that she had indeed been kidding a few moments ago. However, her amusement faded when her gaze met his and she perceived a deeper earnestness in his expression.

"I meant what I said," he told her, speaking quickly but feelingly. "I know we're busy. I know we have responsibilities to our families, our friends. But we can skip something. We can even skip the game if you want to. I don't care. Just say the word and we'll disappear."

Lois, wishing she could accept his proposal, sighed, "Mrs. K. -"

"- Would hit the roof. But I think she'd understand… eventually."

Just then, Dinah, insisting that she'd given the couple fair warning, pushed her way through the stall door on which Lois had been leaning, sending her stumbling forward. No sooner had Clark caught her, though, than Dinah began tugging her in the opposite direction while offering him a few smirking sympathies for depriving him of his fiancée's "French lesson." Both the bride and the groom chuckled at Dinah's humor, and, before the bridesmaid could get them out of one another's reach, Lois grabbed Clark's tie to pull him to her for one last kiss.

"I'll think about it," she then promised him, finally letting Dinah drag her away.

…

Oliver, mortified, immediately shut his eyes and hung his head. Dinah chuckled, feeling almost sorry for him - but not quite. After a long pause, Oliver then summoned the nerve to confront his awkward situation and, forcing a smile, turned around to face the person behind him.

"Hello there, sir," he said to a severe-looking Larry Lance. "I don't suppose you'll accept an apology for me making as big an ass out of myself as I just did, so since you're probably and justifiably about to murder me where I stand, I only ask that you allow me these final words: I have nothing but the deepest reverence for both your daughter and your wife. And as for Birdie in particular, my only regret as you prepare to send me to my well-deserved grave is that I'll no longer enjoy the privilege of worshipping at her altar - Um, which I-I don't mean as some sort of, uh, cheeky euphemism. I wouldn't make that kind of joke with you - or with her either, for that matter. Our intimacy is not something I kid about, because sleeping with a woman as singularly spectacular as your daughter is an honor that - Ah, geez. What am I saying? Just kill me. Kill me now."

Larry's forbidding expression remained unchanged.

Soon, another chuckle bubbled up from behind Oliver, prompting Larry to look past him in order to observe Dinah. In her hands, he saw two gifts. In her demeanor, he saw only ease. Thus convinced of what he'd supposed as he'd entered the corridor and glimpsed the couple huddled in its far corner, he took a long breath and returned his gaze to the young man before him.

Oliver, braced for the worst, was shocked when Larry lifted a hand not to tear out his throat but to pat him on the shoulder and then gesture back down the corridor. Loath to question so merciful a reprieve, Oliver nodded his gratitude and, after turning back to offer Dinah a parting look of affection, took Larry's cue and excused himself from his and his daughter's company.

Once Oliver was out of sight, Dinah went to stand with her father, telling him, "Don't think I haven't noticed you've said two words less than your usual five today. Been wanting to throttle Oliver that badly?"

Her remark prompted a slight chuckle from Larry, who, always rendered less taciturn by his children, then replied, "Whatever my instincts to eliminate any impediment to your happiness, I'm only here now because Danny seemed to be getting that nauseous feeling that can only mean he senses you're upset."

"So you figured you'd come put Oliver out of both your kids' misery?"

"Actually, Mom was the first to notice Danny looking unwell. She started to leave the table, but Danny convinced her to let me come instead. I suppose he wanted to spare your boyfriend a slow death at her hands."

Dinah smiled, "By giving him a quick one at yours?"

"Not that that'll be necessary, apparently."

Dinah peered down at her two gifts as Larry motioned toward them. With delight, she started to tell him about the motorcycle to which her pair of keys belonged, but he expressed more interest in her emblazoned jewelry box. Upon handing him the gift for closer inspection, she somewhat hesitantly explained that the box bore the Queen family's crest because their personal jeweler had crafted the earrings inside it.

Larry studied the crest for several moments and studied the earrings for several more. "Is this gesture the first of its kind that he's made to you or that he's made to anyone?" he then asked Dinah, handing her back her gift.

Dinah irritably shifted her weight, replying, "To anyone, I'm pretty sure."

"Did he get his grandparents' say-so?"

"It was their idea."

"And you accepted?"

"Just barely," returned Dinah with a huff. "But let's just stop with the interrogation, okay? I'm nearly thirty, and yet I still find myself reminding you and Mom that I'm not your suspect and I'm not her client. For Christ's sake, I accepted a token from a man you know me to be very fond of. Can I take just five minutes to enjoy it and the reconciliation it followed? Would that be okay? Or do I have to start unpacking and analyzing and processing my relationship right this second? Because god forbid I be the slightest bit hesitant about going through all that again."

Larry, wholly unaffected by the flare in his daughter's temper, said to her in a solemn tone, "Oliver is not Craig, Tweety."

"How so?" scoffed Dinah, arms crossed over her chest. "Because you liked Craig too. You, Mom, Danny - all three of you liked him. And why am I even putting that in the past tense? Hell, more than three years later and you still have him over for family barbeques."

"Would you rather we not?"

"I didn't say that."

Larry responded by assuming a stern stance and a sterner tone, telling Dinah, "Then let's not mince words on a topic as significant as this. You, my marvelously uncompromising daughter, require arrogance and aggression in any young man who aspires to you taking him seriously. And the only reason you've chewed up and spit out so many arrogant and aggressive types over the years is because they've all expected you to soften, bend in time; they've all considered your harshness an edge to be rounded, not honed. Craig, despite his warmth and despite whatever else set him apart for you for so long, was fundamentally no different from the others. Whether in fives years or fifty, he would've grown to resent you for the very qualities that first drew him in. Which is why as much as your nearest and dearest did and still do like him, we never felt he was suited for your long-term… And lest you forget, you would've turned him down all on your own. You didn't need us refusing him our blessing to do it."

Dinah rolled her eyes at her father's incisiveness. Indeed, even for as strongly as she'd felt for her other great love, she'd always been too much of a pragmatist to ignore how poorly their convictions and aspirations complemented each other. Unfortunately, she'd never been able to convince him of those underlying incompatibilities, and when he risked proposing to her in spite of both her discouragement and her family's, she'd had no choice but to accept that their years-long, more-on-than-off romance had finally reached its breaking point.

Despite the sting of those memories, however, Dinah willed herself to disregard them long enough to pose to Larry a question she'd been avoiding for some time.

"So…" she edged, reflexively bracing herself by tightening the fold of her arms. "Are you saying you guys feel differently about Oliver? In my 'long-term,' that is."

Larry paused and sighed. As it happened, Oliver had always made his intentions with Dinah perfectly plain to the members of her immediate family, despite having had to proceed more circuitously with Dinah herself. From Dinah's question, however, it was clear that she'd begun to come around to the notion that Oliver had cherished for some time. That realization couldn't but stir in Larry a number of emotions, none of which he was prepared to articulate in a public venue. Accordingly, he leaned forward to press a doting kiss to Dinah's temple, and simply told her, "You let Craig go for both his sake and yours. Should the day come, we're sure you'll know whether to do the same with Oliver."

Dinah smirked knowingly; she dreaded the topic she'd broached every bit as much as her father did. With levity, she thus asked him, "You guys really have that much confidence in my judgment?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Every bit as much as we have in your ability to strike fear into even the most obnoxious of young men."

At that, the pair shared a warm laugh, after which Larry turned to leave. As he passed by the men's room door, he glanced down at the purse sitting conspicuously in front of it. Recognizing the purse as the bride's, he shook his head in amusement and, turning back to Dinah, suggested that she not let the happy couple linger much longer.

Dinah was still chuckling at Larry's perceptiveness when, just as he reached the end of the corridor, Lois's admiral uncle tuned to enter it. Without missing a beat, Larry intercepted the admiral, introduced himself as a former navy man, and kept him occupied just long enough to allow Dinah time to duck into the men's room and retrieve the bride.


	24. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Ten

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER TEN

* * *

"Ah, the lovebirds. I can see the tabloid headlines now: 'Scandal! Queen family's prodigal son reunites with Lane family's rogue daughter on eve of her wedding!'"

Dinah's remark drew Oliver's attention, prompting him to look over at her as she entered the alleyway adjacent to the rehearsal luncheon restaurant and approached him and Lois, whom he had his arms around. While Oliver and Dinah exchanged teasing looks, Lois ignored them and continued her phone conversation.

"Really, I absolutely insist… Gran, please, explain to your husband that - Yes, Paps, we're ganging up on you… But you can't crash a party that you were invited to… Seriously? You're gonna try playing the propriety card with me?… Okay, listen, Paps. Are you listening?... Ollie means the world to you, right?... And you're still plenty sweet on me, right?... Then here's the bottom line: Your sole heir is desperate for you to be here, which means I'm desperate for you to be here, too. So never mind 'seemly.' Never mind 'last minute.' Just brush off that tux you always look so suave in and tell your pilot to gas up the jet… Now, that's what I want to hear… All right, then. I'll leave the details to Ollie… You, too. See you soon."

As Lois returned Oliver's phone to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, he grinned and hugged her back. "I knew you could get him to budge," he told her. "Queen men can't say no to you."

Dinah cringed, "Ugh, what's with the love-fest out here? You two really should get a room."

"Only if you'll join us," winked Oliver, before releasing Lois and resuming his call.

As Oliver was apparently preoccupied, Dinah directed her rejoinder at Lois. "You know, I've never doubted that the three of us is his ultimate fantasy."

"Think again," smiled Lois.

"Why?"

Covering his phone's mouthpiece, Oliver leaned over to interject, "Because whether in my dreams or in my reality, I'm not fool enough to entertain any scenario that risks you two eliminating the middleman."

"Yeah, right," chuckled Dinah, looking Lois over. "She can't handle me. Wouldn't even know where to start."

Lois smirked, "You'd be surprised."

"Oh, really? Is that a proposition?"

"Careful, Lance. You only think the Ducati's as good as it gets because you've never ridden the Harley."

Leaning over again, Oliver teased, "See? I hear you two flirt like that and all I get is insecure. But, hey, you know what, I'd be willing to step aside and let you relieve your tension. My only condition is that you allow me to watch, maybe even film - Yes, sir?… Birdie's out here. I was talking to her and -… Oh, c'mon, it was only a joke… Yes, a coarse one. What other kind is there?… All right, all right. Anything you say, Gran." Turning to address the amused pair off to his side, Oliver offered them a compulsory apology and then, stepping several strides away, returned his attention to his call. "Did you both hear that? Was it sufficient?... Good. Anyway, how soon do you think your people can have you packed?..."

With Oliver again engaged, Dinah nudged Lois, whispering her prior understanding that, even for as keen on Lois as Oliver's grandparents had long been, they thought it inappropriate to attend her wedding given her romantic past with their grandson.

Lois explained that Oliver had asked them to make an exception. However, she downplayed his insistence, saying, "High-profile scene, big-name attendees, crazy excess all around - a party like this demands more than one Queen. Besides, Ollie probably just wants to celebrate his return to your good graces with the two people who helped him get there."

"Sweet of him, I suppose," replied Dinah, glancing off in Oliver's direction. "But, technically, I welcomed him back before I saw the earrings."

Lois watched Dinah's eyes as they remained on Oliver, betraying her casual response. Replying to her in earnest, Lois thus said, "I didn't mean your earrings. I meant that had Gran and Paps not made sure Ollie's core decency survived his younger years, you never would've given him the chance to be anything more to you than a good time. He owes your relationship to them; he knows that."

Without Dinah realizing it, her expression gave away that she'd taken Lois's sentiment to heart. Soon catching herself, though, she blinked away her distraction with Oliver and, growing suspicious of Lois's sudden gravity, directed her gaze at her to ask, "What's with the detour down Sappy Street?"

Thinking quickly, Lois made an excuse about winding her way to writing her vows. With that, she then changed the subject, asking Dinah why she'd abandoned her main course and come out to the alleyway. "You're not seriously worried about me running off with Ollie, are you?" she quipped.

"Seeing as that'd leave Sugar to fall into my arms, I'd be more wishful about it than worried."

Lois laughed, "Sorry to disappoint, but yours would so not be the arms he fell into. Your type scares him."

After pretending shock and insisting that she and her kind were harmless, Dinah segued to informing Lois that the waitstaff had begun clearing the main course and that everything was set for her toast. Lois, having returned to her table following her tryst with Clark only to be immediately whisked out to the alleyway by Oliver, had lost track of the time. Accordingly, she thanked Dinah for coming to retrieve her.

Calling over to Oliver, Lois announced that she and Dinah were headed back in and asked him whether he needed any more help. He put his call on hold and, jogging back to Lois and Dinah, assured the former that he had everything under control and passed on to the latter a few warm words from his grandparents. After smiling his receipt of Dinah's return message, Oliver then reached for Lois.

"Thanks again. You're better than the best," he told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then raising his phone back to his ear.

Dinah had had enough.

"What the hell, Oliver?" she demanded, gesturing to Lois and then to herself, as if to protest having received no similar departing affection from him.

Bemused, Oliver threw up his hands. "Well, what do you expect, Birdie? The woman I dream of spending my life with was on the verge of quitting me half-an-hour ago. Forgive me for being perfectly content to not presume with her just yet."

"Oh, for the love of god, presume. Presume, love!"

In a bit of disbelief, Oliver paused a beat before asking Dinah whether she was serious. For his answer, Dinah strutted her way past Lois, grasped the back of Oliver's neck, and pulled him down into a fierce, though brief, kiss.

Once released, Oliver paused for a second time, gathering his wits. Then, holding Dinah's gaze as a smirk appeared in one corner of his mouth, he lifted his mobile only long enough to say into it, "Guys, I'll have to call you back in a few minutes."

Lois, meanwhile, had already slipped away, leaving her bridesmaids to themselves.

…

Clark caught Lois's eye from across the dining room as she clinked a glass and situated herself where she could be easily seen from throughout the space. Given that they'd planned to thank their wedding party and their families toward the end of the luncheon, Clark assumed Lois preferred to convey their gratitude before rather than after the final course, and he rose to join her. She motioned for him to stay put, though, prompting him to retake his seat and to offer her a smile of support for whatever else she was preparing to say.

When the room had just about quieted down, Bart, who was the only diner with an entrée still in front of him, looked up from his third steak and peered around to find out who was drawing the crowd's attention. Upon seeing the bride, he laughingly proclaimed, "Oh, no! Lane's got the floor! Everyone get comfortable; we're gonna be here for a while!"

Suppressing a smile and pretending offense, Lois called out over the ensuing wave of laughter, "Keep it up, Frodo, and I'll Sauron your little butt right back to The Shire!"

"What does that even mean?" retorted Bart, addressing a chuckling Stuart, who was seated next to him. Then, twisting around to face Clark's table, Bart told the groom, "Seriously, Stretch, she is worse than any fanboy."

"Are you gonna let him say that about me?" demanded Lois.

Clark smirked, "Only because I think it's true."

To that, Lois loudly scoffed, declared herself insulted beyond reason, and announced to one and all that there'd be no ceremony come the next day. Nearly everyone present instantly turned on the groom with lighthearted jeers. Asher and his cousins even flung a few odd objects at him.

"Hey, I didn't mean it as a bad thing," insisted Clark, absorbing the impact of balled-up napkins and place cards. "Nerd culture is pop culture these days. If she weren't so obsessed with fantasy, I'd be totally out of touch with reality. She's like the, er, Hermione to my Ron."

His mouth full, Bart interrupted with a snort. "Dude, was that a _Potter _reference? You hate _Potter_!"

Lois laughed along with the others as her cousins' initial flurry became a barrage. Clark held up his hands in defense and protested that Bart's claim wasn't necessarily true; the final few films were respectable, he thought. In truth, Clark's bias wasn't against Lois's favorite franchise in particular but against magic in general, being that it'd been used against him more than once. Of course, he couldn't explain as much to Lois's cousins without inviting scrutiny into his ostensibly ordinary life, and thus he was left to their assault until Lois finally called them off.

"Although, on second thought, maybe he does deserve a bit of abuse," she then smirked. "Truth is, this isn't the first time he's nearly sabotaged this weekend… He's been pleading with me to elope with him for months."

Clark dropped his brow into his hand as his mother turned to him in shock and the heckling began all over again.

Enjoying the sight of her harried fiancé, Lois continued, "That's right, Mrs. K., at least once every week, he gets puppy-eyed and goes all, 'Let's just do it now!' Never mind that following through on his half-baked scheme would mean robbing who-knows-how-many people - Actually, exactly how many people are we entertaining this weekend?"

Carissa immediately spoke up, reporting that between the several hundred weekend-long guests staying at the hotel and the several thousand daylong guests visiting the carnival, the total number of attendees was estimated at just under five figures.

Several whistles echoed throughout the energetic room.

"Tell me about it," retorted Lois, similarly daunted by the headcount. "But the groom would've been happy to rob that many people of a totally good time just so he could indulge his whim. What a jerk, right? And I don't even know what his hurry's been. I mean, who in their right mind wants to ball-and-chain themselves to me, the supposed fantasy fanatic? But, no matter how many outs I've tried to give him, he's spent the last eight months just as hellbent on going through with this as he was the night he proposed -"

"- Whoa! Hold it right there, young lady," ordered Valerie Lane, cutting her niece short. "'The _night_ he proposed'? That's the most information you've let slip on the topic thus far. Dare I hope you've called our attention in order to finally tell all?"

Caught off guard, Lois let out an awkward chuckle as the room fell silent and every eye turned to her.

Valerie, unashamed in putting Lois on the spot, insisted, "Come, come, Lo'. There's no time like the present to drop the veil of mystery."

Lois could tell by the rapt expressions throughout the room that her aunt was far from alone in her curiosity. In fact, Lois had related the details of her betrothal to only Martha, whose blessing she'd sought beforehand; her sister, who'd accompanied her to choose the ring with which she eventually proposed; and Aimée and Moira, from whom she kept nothing. But despite Lois having no intentions whatever to divulge publicly what she'd hardly related privately, the very thought of doing so seized her in a panic. To lay herself bare before a crowd, especially a crowd comprised of those closest to her, those who knew her for what she was - such was her greatest fear. And as she considered the looming prospect of her voice alone carrying through the wedding ceremony hall the next day, she questioned whether she'd succeed in preventing her bolt reflex from triggering.

No sooner had she begun to doubt herself, though, than she chided herself for doing so. Taking a breath and reining in her anxieties, she reminded herself that she wouldn't be alone on the dais and that she could always look not only to those behind her but also to the man opposite her for courage. Instinctively, she glanced over at Clark, whose expression conveyed that although her own hadn't betrayed her momentary alarm, her heartbeat had. Concerned, he mouthed, "Are you okay?" She smiled her assurance that she was and then redirected her attention to the rest of the crowd, answering their curiosity about her engagement with a tall tale involving begging and bribery.

In the end, Valerie was the only person in the room dissatisfied with the diversion, and while the others were practically doubled over in amusement, she looked pointedly at Lois.

Relishing her triumph, Lois told her aunt, "What can I say, Madam Secretary? You of all people should appreciate that a woman's entitled to her secrets."

Valerie smilingly tipped her head, conceding that Lois had once again successfully avoided giving her a direct answer. Still, she warned her, "This isn't over, young lady."

"Neither is her turn at the mike, obviously," retorted Bart, gulping down the last of his steak. "I knew she'd take forever up there. Where's the dessert course?"

Just as Lois was preparing to gibe the groomsman for his bottomless pit of a stomach, her maid of honor drew her attention and discreetly gestured to his wristwatch, reminding her of the time. She nodded her thanks and promptly directed the room to settle back down. Once she had everyone's attention, she explained that although she and Clark had intended to take the present time to acknowledge their wedding party and their families, she had in mind a less traditional use for the platform the rehearsal luncheon afforded.

As it turned out, Lois wished to formally recognize those responsible for what she felt everyone would agree was a spectacular event thus far. The wedding planning team received her subsequent toast with appreciative smiles and nods, leaving Lois to then turn her attentions to Carissa and Clark, the wedding's unofficial coordinators. The pair was surprised by the acknowledgment and thoroughly discomfited by the glowing remarks Lois went on to make in their praise. Just when they thought she'd finished fussing over them, though, she insisted that they join her at the front of the room. Reluctantly, they did as told, demurring from the ovation Lois led for them as they made their ways to her.

"Now," the bride eagerly began, once Carissa and Clark had arrived and the applause had died down, "I know that taking the lead on this insane affair was your insane idea of a good time and that you don't want anyone, especially me, thanking you for all of your hard work. But, more than everybody else combined, I owe you two. The stuff you considered a pleasure, I would've considered a pain. And you were so sweet and so understanding about that. And you totally spared me the hassles that probably would've driven me to just elope with my overeager roommate -"

"- Fiancé!" retorted nearly half the room.

Cutting her eyes at the crowd, Lois corrected herself and then concluded, "So, as the person deepest indebted to you, I'll be damned if you don't accept my gratitude - even if I have to shove it down your throats. And that means it's time for presents!"

Prompted by Lois's signal, Page brought the bride her duffel bag, from which she produced two gift-wrapped boxes. After handing Carissa the larger of the boxes, she told her that she wouldn't force her to open it in front of everyone and, pressing a generous kiss to her cheek, allowed her to return to her seat. Clark, on the other hand, was spared no such embarrassment.

Upon opening his present, Clark discovered an oversized beaded necklace with a series of festive, somewhat vulgar charms, one of which was a plastic shot glass that read only, "Groom. Doomed." With a chuckle, he showed his gift to the onlookers, returned it to its box, and leaned down to hug his fiancée in thanks.

"What do you think you're doing?" laughed Lois, barely containing her anticipation as she stepped out of his reach. "That's not some gag gift. It's your credentials."

"Credentials? For what?"

Beaming, Lois took Clark's necklace from him, hung it around his neck, and replied, "For your bachelor party… which starts right now!"

All at once, nearly everyone in the room, Carissa included, shouted, "Surprise!"

Clark, stunned by the sudden exclamation, turned with the others to see the wedding's head pastry chef, surrounded by a group of dancing, rooting, confetti-throwing waiters, wheeling out a massive cake from the restaurant's kitchens.

"Almost looks too amazing to eat, right?" grinned Lois, gesturing toward the cake, which had been fashioned as an elaborate replica of the Edge City, Kansas arena in which game seven of the NBA Finals was set to tip off in just two hours.

Clark hardly knew how to react to the excitement that was suddenly surrounding him and, his mouth agape, he looked to Lois in question. She giggled, delighting in his bewilderment, and began to offer him an explanation. However, before she could say even two words, an indignant groomsman shouldered his way through the waiters and accosted her.

"Hey, what is all this?" demanded Bart, gesturing around him at the obviously coordinated effort about which he was as clueless as Clark. "His bachelor party was last night. I know; I was there, I helped plan it."

Lois teased that a night of pizza and gaming did not a bachelor party make.

After Bart then looked to gauge the reaction of Jimmy, who seemed to be the only other person in the room confounded by the present goings-on, he protested that he and his fellow groomsman had only given in to Clark's preference for a low-key night in because Lois herself had threatened them against defying his wishes. "She duped us, Stretch! She totally duped us!" he went on to complain to the still silent, still baffled groom. Then, addressing Lois, he continued, "And for what, the satisfaction of upstaging us? Well, sorry, but no way is that happening with some cheesy necklace and some stupid cake."

Unmoved by Bart's objections, Lois kept her eyes on Clark as she casually told Bart, "One, it's called a 'groom's cake.' Two, it's made with milk chocolate and peanut butter - his favorite combo. And three… it's where we're taking him."

Lois's reply drew exactly the response she'd intended it to as Clark, finally incited to articulation, said in unison with Bart and Jimmy, "Wha - Huh?"

The restaurant filled with yet another wave of laughter while Lois plucked an envelope off its display holder beside the groom's cake and then handed it to Clark. Bart, however, intercepted the offering and tore into it with unabashed anticipation. Upon seizing its contents, he inhaled an audible gasp and, after taking a moment to recover himself, showed what he'd discovered to Clark.

"Th-These are tickets! These are t-tickets!" declared the groomsman.

Jimmy instantly shot up from his seat to see for himself what Bart claimed to be holding. Meanwhile, Clark refused to believe his eyes and laughed off the entire situation, telling Lois, "This is a joke. This has got to be a joke."

"You're so adorable when you're in denial."

"I'm not in denial. I'm… confused."

Lois snickered, "Were you even listening to me this morning? I told you that the oat bars I brought you weren't the surprise I promised you before I left the meet and greet yesterday. Clearly, your real treat was still coming. I can't believe you forgot about it. What else could possibly have been on your mind these past hours?"

"…Marrying you."

"Well, snap out of it, Smallville! It's your last day of bachelorhood and it's time you started reveling in it," she insisted, punching him in the shoulder and then looking over at the wedding's party planner. "As a matter of fact, wheels up in…?"

The party planner, who'd removed to a far corner of the dining room in order to check on the arrangements for that evening, put his phone call on hold and answered, "T minus one hour, if you still intend to catch the starting lineups."

Lois nodded in thanks and then returned her attention to Clark, adding, "Which means we're gonna have to get our cake and our desserts to-go, because we still have to swing by the hotel to pick up the rest of your hoop squad."

"Whoa, the guys are coming, too?" interjected Jimmy.

"Yep, along with all the ladies from my bachelorette romp. They want to thank Smallville for nursing us through our hangovers by making sure he and his buddies have a night to remember. I figured no one would mind. It's not a party without a crowd, right?"

Jimmy eagerly agreed, knowing that Lois's high-spirited, to say nothing of attractive, friends would only improve what was already sure to be an incredible time. After another moment's thought, though, he remarked that there were only a couple handfuls of tickets in Bart's grasp.

"Relax, Olsen," replied Lois. "The seats are for anyone who doesn't prefer the view from our private suite. But, uh, your buddies still think we're meeting up to watch the game at that sports bar down the way, so you should probably call and tell 'em the action's gonna be more live than they were expecting."

Jimmy, eager to deliver the news, immediately began scrambling for his phone, while Clark, having finally gotten his head around what was happening, reached out to the bride. Bart, however, beat him to her, lifting Lois off the ground in the process and raving over and again about how much he'd always liked her. Several in the restaurant laughed to see the bride at the mercy of the shorter, smaller man, who was wholly ignoring Lois's demands that he put her down. When, at last, Clark managed to pry her free, Bart hurried back to his table to show Stuart the tickets.

Amidst all the commotion, Lois was finally able to enjoy Clark's reaction to his surprise when, after trying and failing to put his excitement into words, he went with his initial instinct and drew her into an ecstatic kiss. No sooner had their lips met than the air around them filled with as many wholehearted "awws" from the elder generations in the room as halfhearted hisses from the younger generations, the loudest of whom were Lois's first cousins. Clark was deaf to the response, however, and very soon eased Lois's lips farther apart with his own. Fortunately, Lois anticipated his intent to deepen their kiss and she abruptly pulled away from him. Clark blinked open his eyes and gave her a look of both complaint and confusion, to which she replied by glancing off to their side and reminding him of the company they were in. The mix of cheers and jeers filling the room finally registered to Clark, causing his cheeks to flush. Inwardly, he wondered whether Asher and company would ever allow him to live down his impulsive display.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed," chuckled Lois, intuiting Clark's thoughts as she stepped back into his space. "If they really minded, they wouldn't say anything at all. They'd just invite you along for another morning workout." Having gotten a smile out of Clark, Lois then asked him, "Now, just so we're clear, you're not planning on giving me grief about what this is costing, are you?"

Clark thought for a moment, peering about at his two elated groomsmen, and ultimately grinned and shook his head.

"Good!" Lois gleefully returned. "But, just so you know, I actually broke down and pulled a string or two, so hardly any of this is coming out of pocket - not that I would've minded otherwise, obviously. After all, you know how much fun I have spoiling you."

Clark grinned all the more as Lois stretched up onto her toes and sealed her sentiment with a peck to his cheek. Many in the dining area again sighed their regard for the young couple. However, as Lois then circled her arms around Clark's middle and nestled her cheek against his chest, she happened to glimpse Oliver re-entering the restaurant with Dinah. Oliver's bright expression turned gloomy as he looked about the room and observed its present activity. Before Lois could wonder at his thoughts, though, he caught her eye and his features warmed. Satisfied for the moment, she returned his glance with a smile and then redirected her attention to her embrace with her betrothed.

Not a few seconds later, Bart reappeared at Lois's side. "Okay, enough with the PDA already," he said. "We've got a plane to catch and a game to attend, so let's slice this cake and get outta here. Start with my piece, though. Make it big. Lots of icing. Like, lots and lots of icing. Never mind, I'll just get it myself. "

…

While nearly all the younger members of the wedding party - in addition to Carissa, Stuart, Daniel Lance, and several attendants - began heading outside the luncheon restaurant to the coach bus waiting for them, the bride and the groom said their goodbyes to their respective families. Once the last of their farewells had been given, though, both Lois and Clark were delayed a bit longer by separate conversations.

"What do you mean you're still not coming?" complained Clark to Diana, having knelt down beside her seat at their table. "We're not even going to the bar anymore; we're going to the actual game. Game seven of the NBA Finals! Most sports fans spend their whole lives never getting to experience something like this in person. Never mind that this state - my state! - could have its first NBA champs in a few hours."

Diana offered him an indulgent smile, but nevertheless reminded him, "You know how I abhor masculine athletics."

"So just picture all the players with fuller chests and wider hips. You'll like that."

"Ever the rube," retorted Diana.

"Ever the princess," smirked Clark.

Having drawn a laugh from Diana, Clark asked her one last time to change her mind, even pointing out that he was doing so on bended knee, but she remained unmoved. Conceding to her decision, he then thought for a moment on a different subject and soon asked her to follow him to a quiet end of the restaurant bar. Once there, he told her to wait just a bit and, after taking a few steps down an adjacent corridor to ensure he was out of sight, he vanished at super-speed.

When Clark reappeared half a minute later, he did so with a small jewelry box in his grasp. Coming to stand before Diana once more, he took a meaningful pause and then held out the box to her, saying, "I was going to leave this with you later tonight, but I guess I probably won't see you again before tomorrow morning, so… here. It's all yours until the ceremony."

Diana, an eyebrow quirked in reluctance, peered down at the box and then back up at Clark. "Seems rather a poorly conceived convention, does it not? To delegate a task of such import?"

Clark chuckled, "Nothing you say is going to get you out of this. But if you need me to explain the whole 'best man' thing again…"

With a smile of amusement, Diana accepted the box and wished Clark's team good luck.

"Thank you," he replied, kissing her hand and turning to depart. "Have fun at the carnival with the kids. Tell them I say hi. Oh, and don't worry; I'll remember to bring you back a couple hotdogs and some nachos."

Diana cringed and laughed, saying after him, "You will do no such thing!"

When Clark reached the restaurant's lobby, he came into view of Lois. She was standing outside the glass doors of the front entrance, failing just as Clark had with Diana at convincing Asher to join the evening's festivities. Clark thus stayed inside and out of sight, letting Lois finish her conversation with her cousin.

"I don't think the big fella would be comfortable with any Lane other than you attending his bachelor party," insisted Asher, smirking at the thoroughly annoyed expression on Lois's face.

"But there's gonna be a crowd of, like, fifty. He won't even notice you're there."

"Even if that were true, I still couldn't go," replied Asher, his levity giving way all of a sudden. To Lois's consequent look of curiosity, he explained in an earnest tone, "The guys and I have a bit of business to see to back at the carnival."

Lois needed no longer than a beat to take his meaning. "You're talking about Major A-hole. How do you even know about him?"

"How else?"

"Luce?" groaned Lois, regretting having called her sister after the carnival and mentioned to her its one low in addition to its many highs. "Damn it, I told her to keep her mouth shut."

"Ah, don't pretend you're shocked she didn't. And, hey, this could be even worse for the major: Lucy could be here to read him the riot act herself."

With that Lois couldn't disagree. Still, she asked Asher whether there was any chance of her dissuading him and her other cousins from the task to which Lucy had set them.

His voice firm, Asher told her, "None whatsoever. The man harassed you. He pissed off Lucy. He insulted Uncle Sam. And, as if any one of those offenses weren't more than enough, he demeaned the relationship between the women who raised you - one of whom was my favorite aunt. There's no way we can stand for that, Lo', especially at your wedding."

Lois cocked her head at him. "Who'd Luce tell you she'd rat me out to if I didn't go along with this?"

"…Gammy."

"Eff me. Straight to the top, huh?"

Asher nodded.

He and Lois shared a laugh.

Having accepted her cousins' intention, Lois demanded that Asher and his cohorts only talk to the major. "No disappearing the guy, okay?" she added.

"We make no promises," quipped Asher, giving Lois a departing hug. "Seriously, though, don't worry about us. Just enjoy the party. And, uh, try not to give the big fella a heart attack."

Lois enjoyed a knowing laugh as Asher headed back into the restaurant and Clark, all smiles, emerged from it.

"What's so funny?" asked the groom as he came upon the bride.

"Nothing," she replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

Clark nodded, taking up one of Lois's hands with both of his and nuzzling his lips into her palm. "But I guess this means we won't be disappearing."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Oh, no, Ms. Lane…" he murmured against her skin, nipping at the base of her thumb. "I'm devastated."

Clark's timbre and touch rekindled the warmth that his earlier interlude with Lois had ignited deep within her belly. Without thinking, she shifted her stance and bit down on her lower lip. He smirked at her response, but the circles he began massaging into her hand bespoke nothing of cheek and everything of promise. She forced a chuckle and averted his intent gaze, endeavoring to maintain her composure. In defiance of the noise and bustle of the city sidewalk, Clark stepped closer to her and pressed a warm kiss to her inner wrist. The heat at her core ticked up yet another degree, but she nonetheless cleared the shakiness from her throat and met his eyes to evenly state, "What if Mrs. K. were watching you right now?"

Clark's eyes widened as the rest of his body froze. Then, quickly lowering Lois's hand from his lips, he asked, "She's not, is she?"

"No," returned Lois, taking her hand from Clark's grasp and retreating from him a step. "But maybe since you care so much about whether she is, you should stop trying to start something you'll only feel guilty about finishing."

Clark considered her suggestion for a long moment and, in the end, he simply drew nearer to her and quietly said, "You miss me…"

"I really do," sighed Lois, retreating back a second step. "Still, it won't kill me to wait another couple days for you to address that."

Clark's face fell into a sulk as he peered down at the small distance between himself and his intended, and the plans he'd spent the duration of the main course making evaporated.

Lois laughed at him, saying, "Oh, don't give me the sourpuss. Look on the bright side: In the first place, you can sublimate your taste for me by digging into your gi-normous slices of that oh-so-delicious groom's cake. And in the second place, Mrs. K. only seems to care about the one of us she raised showing some restraint. She hasn't said anything to me, which I choose to believe means I can do whatever the hell I want. Of course, maybe you'd prefer I mind your mother, too. Especially since you and I both know you've never really objected to me keeping my hands to myself…"

The suggestiveness of Lois's retort instantly returned the smile to Clark's face and the flirtation to his gaze. Before he could reply, though, Bart and Jimmy suddenly appeared, the former loudly proclaiming that for the sake of his appetite, he'd pretend he hadn't heard Lois's last comment. The groomsmen then rounded the back of Clark and, in an exaggerated huff, began pushing him down the sidewalk, toward the coach bus.

"Guest of honor or not, CK," said Jimmy, "you keep us waiting any longer and you're flying yourself to the game."

"I wouldn't mind," chuckled Clark over his shoulder. "Hey, Bart, want to hang back and race me there?"

"Dude, get a grip. The only way you'll ever beat me is if I let you."


	25. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Eleven

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER ELEVEN

* * *

Bursting with anticipation, the partygoers back at the wedding site had decided against waiting inside the hotel lobby and instead had gathered on its shaded front steps and sidewalk. Before long, several in the crowd spotted the coach bus that'd left the rehearsal luncheon not twenty minutes ago, and as they proclaimed their sighting, a roar of enthusiasm erupted from the others and they all cheered the bus as it traveled the last block to the hotel.

Many on the bus, excited by their boisterous reception, got to their feet and waved from the windows. Amongst them was Clark, whose grin brightened all the more when he noticed an unexpected face within the crowd.

"Hey, it's Kara!" he pronounced, while polishing off the last of his three slices of groom's cake. "She's here!"

"What? Kara? Kara's here?" returned Jimmy, peering along with a few others in the direction Clark was pointing. Upon making out the final member of the groom's party, Jimmy immediately withdrew from the window, looked down at his appearance, and then dashed up the bus aisle to the small washroom at the rear.

Laughing, Dinah asked, "Is someone going to make sure he's not hyperventilating?"

"Allow me," volunteered Bruce, who then gestured toward Lois's purse. "May I, Lola?"

"Why, yes, you most certainly may, Mr. Wayne," she replied, theatrically bestowing upon him the always overstocked handbag in which he was certain he'd find a comb, wipes, facial cleanser, mouthwash, and anything else that could assist Jimmy in sprucing up.

When the bus soon came to a halt, the bride and the groom were first down its steps and out of its door. Clark's friends immediately converged on Lois, hoisting her up onto their shoulders and parading her about as they thanked her repeatedly for what they considered to be as much their surprise as her intended's. From her lofted position, Lois noticed Oliver coming to linger nearby so as to ensure that the frenzied group of mostly men didn't accidentally drop her. She waved in appreciation. He winked in reply. In the meantime, Clark headed straight for the open arms of Kara Zor-El.

"You're early," smiled Clark, enfolding Kara in a snug embrace. "When did you get here?"

Returning her cousin's hug, Kara told him, "Just an hour ago. The conference closed early."

Clark, of course, knew that the conference Kara was referring to was in fact an interplanetary summit at which she and her delegation had been petitioning for recognition of New Krypton as a sovereign world, despite its fledgling state. To Kara's news, Clark therefore withdrew a bit from her and furrowed his brow in concern. Kara put his mind at ease, though, by reporting in veiled terms that the deliberations had taken less time than supposed and that New Krypton's appeal had ultimately been granted.

"That's incredible! I'm so happy for you. For everyone," beamed Clark, circling his arms around her again. "I want to hear everything about it as soon as possible, okay?"

Kara nodded as several of her fellow Justice League members made their ways to her and offered her their hellos. When Lois finally escaped the swarm of her admirers, she and Oliver also went to greet Kara, who met the former with nearly the same warmth as she had Clark. While the two women hugged, Oliver gave Kara a rub of the shoulder and a smile of welcome before slipping away, leaving only Dinah to note his silence and his prompt disappearance.

After receiving Kara's news about the "conference" and giving her her heartfelt congratulations in response, Lois glanced over Kara's brand new outfit and asked her how she liked it. With a grateful smile, Kara declared both the fit and the style to be just right, adding, "I went through the entire wardrobe. It's amazing! Thank you so much. I never would've had time to do all that shopping, and I know you must get tired of me raiding your closets when I visit."

"Oh, please. My sister cleans me out whenever she's in town; at least you return whatever you borrow," replied Lois. "Anyway, the shopping was no biggie; I knocked it out in, like, two weekends. Which, believe me, was way, way less time than it would've taken Smallville. I mean, it's nice and all that he wanted to handle everything for you himself, but he already had enough on his to-do list without adding trying to pull together what you'd need for an entire month. And, seriously, we all know your unmentionables drawer would be empty if it'd been left to him to stock."

Kara, along with a number of bystanders, chuckled. Clark was saved from hearing Lois's quip, though, as he'd been tugged off into a group of her bachelorette party pals. Grinning, laughing, and planting kisses all over his face, the throng of women thanked him yet again for spending an entire day at their beck and call, and they went on to insist that they were crashing his party for the sole purpose of ensuring him and his all the fun they could stand. Lois, meanwhile, continued chatting with Kara, asking her whether she'd inventoried the rest of her rooms for any missing sundries.

"I did. Everything's there, right down to my favorite shampoo. I'm all set!" Kara assured her, before shifting her weight and considering a matter that quickly overcast her features.

Taken aback, Lois observed, "I swear, Smallville makes that exact same mope-face whenever he doesn't get something he really wants. What is it? What did I forget?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all… But do you know why James and I aren't in the same rooms? I've been looking forward to finally having sex with him. I've been practicing."

Both Bart and Stuart nearly choked on the slices of cake they'd been eating. "Gross, Kara!" complained the former. "Overshare much?"

"Oh, grow up, Frodo," retorted Lois, who was as thoroughly amused as Dinah and several others. "I asked her a question; she gave me its answer."

Indeed, Kara had no filter, no reserve. Her emotions were as bald as her opinions, a trait that had endeared her to Lois long before she knew anything of Kara's upbringing. As Lois would later learn, Kryptonians loathed deceit in all its forms. They considered it inefficient, a waste of time. Moreover, they considered it to indicate frailty in any who relied on it, which was intolerable in a culture that strived to eliminate defects of both blood and behavior. To Kara, therefore, to speak straight and to speak true was a matter not only of honor to her house but also of duty to her race, neither of which she would betray by bending to the proprieties of what she and her compatriots deemed a primitive world.

Thus, understanding Kara's convictions and sympathizing with her obvious concerns, Lois insisted that she shouldn't read too much into the sleeping arrangements in the groom's suite. "If I had to guess," she went on to say, peering off for a moment to ensure Clark was still occupied, "Smallville probably set you up by yourself as some passive-aggressive way of making a point to Jimmy."

"But he loves James."

"Doesn't mean he's gonna help him bed his big cousin -"

Bart broke in, complaining for the second time. "- Ugh! I am so done with this convo! You guys stay here plotting Kara's way into Jimmy's pants all you want. I'm sprinting over to the carnival to stock up. I'll be back in exactly five minutes; everybody better be on the bus by then. Or else."

Nearly everyone laughed as the groomsman bolted away.

Kara, however, remained focused on the matter at hand, breathing a sigh of relief in response to Lois's explanation. "James is kind to indulge Clark, if you're right," she told the bride. "Either way, I'm just glad my first thought seems wrong. I was worried James had met someone since I was last here."

Smirking, Dinah interjected, "Even if he had, there's always Plans B through Z. Jimmy's not the only adorable dork in the universe."

"Of course not," smiled Kara, "but he's the one I want."

"And who am I to stand in the way of true lust? Have at him."

Upon Dinah gesturing over Kara's shoulder at the coach bus, Kara turned to see Jimmy, sans camera, descending the stairs leading down to its front door. Immediately, Kara exclaimed his name and rushed off toward him. Jimmy, when he met her eye, grinned and quickened his pace down the steps. No sooner had he reached the sidewalk, though, than Kara was throwing her arms around his neck and eagerly pulling his lips to hers. Although caught off guard, Jimmy promptly returned her kiss as a number of onlookers began whistling and whooping.

Clark, as Lois expected, was the only person unamused by the spectacle. Tickled at the notice of his none-too-subtle eye-roll, she shuffled through the crowd in his direction and offered him a distraction by calling out, "Hey, Smallville, I guess that urge to maul runs in the family, huh?"

Chuckling, he turned to her and retorted, "_Your_ family, maybe."

Having reached his side, Lois punched him in the shoulder, saying, "Don't flatter yourself. Luce hasn't come on to you in years and she only used to do it to annoy me."

"Are you sure about that? Just sayin', I never felt much ulterior motive in those kisses."

"Such a smartass!" laughed Lois, jumping up to hook an arm around Clark's neck and to haul him down into a headlock. "You seriously wanna joke about sucking face with my little sister - twice?!"

"I never kissed her back! Not that I didn't want to…"

"Oh, that's it! Consider your ass kicked!"

As Lois tussled with Clark, who goaded his fiancée still more by insisting that Lucy wouldn't stand for her bullying him, several of Lois's friends giddily joined in attempting to free the groom from the bride's hold. Dinah, who was amongst them, gibed at Lois, "It's Sugar's party; he'll mock you if he wants to."

Soon enough, nearly every partygoer had turned from rooting on Kara and Jimmy to placing bets on the wrestling match between Lois and all those opposing her. The change in the crowd's cheers derailed Jimmy's focus and he broke his kiss with Kara in order to see what the commotion was about. After he managed to make out the bride and the groom, he chuckled and redirected his gaze at Kara, telling her, "I think CK could use your help."

"Don't worry," she teased. "He's more capable than he looks."

"Talk about an understatement."

After giggling at Jimmy's rejoinder, Kara fell into silence with him and they spent several moments taking each other in. Ultimately, Kara ended their lull by sighing, "It's so good to see you, James."

Jimmy smiled in reciprocation. Theirs had always been a mutual attraction. He was drawn to her for her openness and daring; she to him for his generous, easygoing spirit. Still, for some time, their romance had amounted to little more than a series of fleeting moments and false starts. Two years ago, however, that began to change.

Amidst what'd become a hostile environment for the Kandorian soldiers that were then on Earth, Clark had discovered the existence of the Book of Rao, a device housing an artificial intelligence capable of locating every surviving Kryptonian in the known universe, all of whom had been off-world at the time of Krypton's explosion. After finally obtaining the Book, Clark had entrusted it to Kara, who'd then left Earth with the Kandorians to seek out their millions of far-flung compatriots and to reunite them on a new planet they could call home.

Since New Krypton's founding, Kara's life had become far less unpredictable. Still, the business of helping to rebuild her civilization left her busier than ever, and although she communicated with Clark regularly, her trips to Earth were infrequent and typically brief. When she did visit, though, she always made a point of asking out Jimmy. Once or twice, she'd arrived to find that he was involved with someone. But more often than not, she'd found him available and still very much open to exploring what was between them.

During Kara's last stay a few months ago, she'd told Jimmy that she intended to join in Lois and Clark's eventual "buddymoon" and that she hoped to spend as much of the vacation as possible with him. Jimmy had thrilled at her news and returned her wishes. Indeed, the next four weeks would be the most uninterrupted time they'd ever had the chance to enjoy together. For the time being, though, Jimmy managed to focus on the present and asked Kara about her early arrival.

In as few words as possible, Kara told him what she'd told Clark and Lois. "But," she continued, flirtation in her voice as she toyed with the collar of his shirt, "what I would much rather talk about right now is our separate rooms… with our separate beds. I thought we had plans, James."

Jimmy blushed, chuckled awkwardly, and glanced off at Clark, who, to his relief, was still happily taken up with trying to out-grapple Lois. Looking back at Kara, Jimmy thus explained to her, "Well, I'd already unpacked all my stuff when CK started fixing you up someplace else. I can take a hint, you know. And I completely get it; you guys are family. Not to mention, you and I go months at a time without touching base, so I didn't want to assume our plans were still our plans until I saw you again."

"You are so thoughtful, James. Why isn't every human so thoughtful?" whispered Kara, leaning into him and kissing him deeply. "So…" she then said, once she'd finally withdrawn from him, "do you have a date for this evening?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"Well, you do now -"

"- No! No, he doesn't! There are no dates at a bachelor party!" ordered Bart, who, arms full of goodies, had suddenly come upon them. "Kara, you like these as much as Stretch does, right?" he then impatiently asked, holding out a box of Reese's Pieces. She nodded, prompting him to reply, "Just like E.T., huh? Figures. Well, here, that pack's for you. Call 'em a welcome-back gift. Now, would somebody tell me why the bus is empty and Lane is assaulting Stretch?! Hey, Lane! Lane! Get the hell off of him!"

"Bite me, Frodo! He started it!"

Bart huffed, wound his way through the crowd to drop most of his remaining provisions in Stuart's arms, and set about breaking up the melee. Lois refused to relent, though, unless Clark acknowledged her as the superior wrestler and admitted his defeat.

"Just do it, Stretch," said Bart, confounded as everyone else was by the intricacies of Lois's grip. "We'll never get out of here otherwise."

If only to appease his groomsman, Clark did finally give in. Satisfied, Lois released him and danced off to receive the congratulations from those who'd bet on her. Dinah, in the meantime, adjusted Clark's glasses as a few other women tidied his hair and clothes.

After Lois had given and received enough high-fives and chest-bumps, she returned to Clark and his company to taunt them for their loss. Bart, however, took exception to everything about the current carryings-on and interrupted Lois by addressing one and all.

"What is wrong with you guys?" he shouted, while absently sticking his second box of Reese's Pieces into Clark's hands. "This is supposed to be Stretch's bachelor party! His real one, not that snooze-fest me and Jimmy got suckered into throwing him last night! This is our chance to get it right, people! The rest of this day is supposed to be about basketball and booze! Hotties and hookups! Not beating up on the groom! Our jobs are to get Stretch wasted, possibly arrested, and, even if Lane is the only skirt we can interest him in, laid! That's it! That is all! Who's with me?!"

Despite Bart's best efforts, his battle cry incited only laughter from his audience. Aggravated all the more, he started protesting against their refusal to take their mission seriously. Dinah, however, cut him off, saying, "- Oh, relax, Bartholomew. We'll see to it that Sugar has his fun. But, really, all that raving you're doing makes it sound like you're the one we need to get laid."

Shooting Dinah a look, Bart returned, "Quit tryin' to seduce me, blondie. I ain't interested."

"If that's true, then there's only one reason why."

At Dinah's retort, Lois immediately cut in on Bart's behalf, joking, "Yeah, it's called 'self-preservation.' Who knows where you've been."

"Sugar, that's who. He sees me every night in his dreams."

"In his nightmares, more like."

Happy to let Lois have the last word, Dinah rolled her eyes in pretended offense and sauntered off into the crowd. As she disappeared, the remaining women encircling Clark finished tidying him up and declared him ready for his big evening. Clark's friends rooted their approval and promptly joined in ushering the groom toward the bus.

Lois stayed put for a few seconds in order to enjoy the sight of Clark grinning and laughing in response to the cheer by which he was surrounded. With a smile of contentment, she then went to bring up the rear of the crowd. As her vantage changed, she lost sight of Clark and thus took the opportunity to look about for any stragglers. In so doing, she happened to glimpse Oliver standing at a remove from the animated partygoers, waiting for them to board the bus ahead of him. He appeared staid, composed. To most, he may even have appeared complacent. But Lois knew him far better than most - far better than nearly any other, in fact. And she recognized something in his eyes that betrayed the simmerings belying his facade.

The smile on Lois's face fell as she recalled Oliver's momentary expression of discontent back at the rehearsal luncheon. Worried, she scooted around those directly before her and headed straight for Oliver. She stopped halfway, however, upon noticing Dinah emerge from the crowd and approach him.

Lois kept her distance as she watched Oliver perk up upon meeting Dinah's gaze. In spite of his apparent change of feeling, though, Dinah's expression conveyed concern as she said something to him that Lois was too far away to hear over the clamor of the crowd. In response to Dinah, Oliver shook his head and seemed to offer her an assurance. Dinah regarded him skeptically and, after a long moment, tugged at the lapel of his blazer to coax him down to her height. Whatever she subsequently whispered into his ear drew from him a chuckle and a nod. She released his blazer and kissed his cheek. He smiled at her in return, and he then let her lead him by the hand into the crowd and onto the bus.

Lois exhaled a sigh of relief at the result of Dinah and Oliver's exchange. Nonetheless, she couldn't help wondering what matter could be so bothersome as to distract Oliver even in the slightest from the elation that his earlier reconciliation with Dinah had given him. Before she could venture a guess, though, Kara suddenly appeared opposite her to ask about the wedding ceremony.

"I can't tell you how bizarre all this is to me," said Kara. "We don't ritualize partnership back home. We don't romanticize it either, though. But, then, our civilization is millennia ahead of this one."

Lois, tabling her preoccupation with Oliver, chuckled at Kara's comments. "Those stupid Earthlings and their stupid feelings, right?"

"Oh, we don't think of humans as unintelligent - just unevolved." Taking into account their surroundings, Kara lowered her voice as she continued, "Which Earthlings really have no excuse for when you consider the Themyscirans. They originated from this world, but they've progressed to become one of the most advanced races in the universe. What's more, they think even higher of sensibility than humans do, and yet, they're no more ruled by their passions than Kryptonians are."

Lois continued chuckling as she accepted the handful of Reese's Pieces that Kara offered her. "Are you sure you don't object to Smallville marrying me?"

"I'd only object if you were human. But you're not. Not at heart, anyway."

"Thanks?"

"Don't mention it!" Kara brightly returned, towing Lois along behind her as they finally boarded the bus. "Now, you have to tell me everything about the ceremony. Are groomsmen situated by some sort of precedence? Or is it a height thing? Will I be expected to speak at some point? I am Clark's nearest blood relation, after all. I should probably say a few words, right?"

"Um, about the ceremony, Kara…" replied Lois, munching on a few bits of candy in order to delay responding. "Actually, you know what, it's probably better if family breaks this kind of news. It's probably also more entertaining - for me, at least. Let's go find your cousin."

…

Kara wouldn't hear of sitting out the wedding ceremony. As the bachelor party's coach bus pulled away from the wedding site and headed for a private airport not far away, Kara explained to Clark that without the involvement of an elder member of his house, his marriage on Earth would receive no recognition on New Krypton. As a result, when Clark eventually came of age by Kryptonian standards, he would be paired in accordance with their practices and expected to take up with his designated mate.

"Which, of course, you'll refuse to do," whispered Kara, who'd yet to let Clark get in a word as she huddled with him in the rear two seats of the coach bus. "Which means the Council will have every reason to deem you disloyal and to disavow you as Kryptonian - something many of them would already like to do. Because, in case you forget, to be considered Kryptonian is as much a matter of genetic makeup as of actions, choices. And you, Kal, _choose_ to live your life away from our people, in a primitive world amongst primitive beings -"

At that, Clark furrowed his brow in disapproval and tipped his head sidelong at Lois, Jimmy, and Stuart, all of whom were crammed into the next row of seats and were leaning over the headrests in order to witness Kara's lecture. Kara rolled her eyes at Clark's reproof and insisted that their onlookers knew she meant no offense. "Right, guys?"

All three stifled their snickers and nodded.

"See? They understand," said Kara, turning back to Clark.

Clark could see that Kara was eager to resume making her points and, in an attempt to spare her the effort and himself the exasperation, he swallowed the last of the Reese's Pieces he'd been eating and reached for her hand, saying, "All the same, Kara, you really don't have to keep telling me these things -"

"- Yes, I do. Now -" - keeping her hand out of his reach - "- stop trying to placate me and don't interrupt again."

Sighing, Clark leaned back into his seat and shot a glare at Lois. The bride responded with a shrug of innocence, as if to say that she'd had no idea how Kara would take hearing from him that the number of ceremony participants had been pared down. Clark, of course, knew Lois to be taunting him and, giving her a look that guaranteed payback, he settled in for what remained of Kara's dress-down.

"Listen," said Kara, once assured that she had Clark's full attention, "I understand that Earth is the only home you've ever known. The Council understands that, too. And, fortunately, you are still highly regarded in public opinion for saving the few Kandorians you could from Checkmate and for fighting as hard as you did to secure the Book of Rao. But, Kal, no amount of popularity will matter if you are assigned a mate and you refuse whoever your mate is. That is something that is simply not done. Our race endures because we partner not by choice, but by obligation. We partner not to please ourselves, but to serve our people. It's our duty. That may seem alien to your Earthly sensibilities, but it couldn't possibly to your Kryptonian sense - which no amount of time on even this planet could rid you of.

"So I'm sure you see that I must take part in your wedding, regardless of how peculiar I find all this spectacle and pomp. We are family, cousin, and you are my responsibility. I will not see the House of El shamed by your disavowal. I will not see you deemed as anything less than what you are: one of us."

Upon Kara's conclusion, a sober silence followed. It was unexpectedly ended, however, when the three members of Kara and Clark's audience broke out in applause. The teasing ovation drew a chuckle from Clark, but not from Kara. To her, the present subject demanded solemnity.

Leaning toward her, Clark quieted his amusement long enough to simply ask, "Do you want to be in the ceremony, Kara?"

"I need to be," she insisted, her expression still grave. "What I want is irrelevant."

"Not to me and my 'Earthly sensibilities,' it isn't. Do you _want_ to be in the ceremony?"

Kara paused in consideration, and then answered, "Certainly. Lois found me an unbelievable dress. It deserves to be shown off."

Clark laughed along with the others. "That's all you had to say."

Satisfied, Kara allowed herself to smile a bit and turned to ask Jimmy just what was so funny. He made a teasing retort, to which Kara rejoined in kind. Still bantering, the two of them then left their separate seats and went to find an empty adjacent pair. In the meantime, Stuart, as one of the wedding ceremony's musicians, asked Lois and Clark if the full procession was back on.

"I guess so," shrugged Clark, who then looked to Lois for her say. "As long as you don't mind."

"Oh, I'm good either way and I'm sure my bridesmaids are too. But who's gonna take Luce's place? CJ's always said she prefers the backstage."

Smirking, Clark returned, "I'm sure she'd make an exception if you asked her to."

"You may have to wait a while, though. Looks like she's busy," chuckled Stuart, pointing a thumb toward a row several ahead of his and Lois's, where Carissa was cuddling up to the young woman Lois had first seen her with at the carnival.

Annoyed by the sight, Lois scoffed a bit and turned back around, only to find Clark, a self-satisfied grin on his face, still observing Carissa and his friend. At the sudden realization of why he seemed so proud of himself, she exclaimed and lunged over her seat's headrest at him. Her eruption startled Stuart, but he soon burst out in guffaw at the hilarity of Lois landing atop Clark and immediately setting upon him.

The bride and the groom wrestled about for a bit, with Lois pronouncing her indignation over Clark's matchmaking and Clark laughing his enjoyment of her overblown reaction to it. Soon enough, though, Clark opted to take advantage of his super-speed and accordingly caught Lois's forearms just as she was preparing to deliver two more blows to his torso.

Breathless, Lois complained, "That's cheating."

Clark started to make a retort, but he found himself too rapt by Lois's pique. Stuart, upon seeing Clark's gaze gradually descend the flushed skin of Lois's cheeks and throat, snickered to himself and turned back around in his seat. Lois watched as Clark lingered over the curves of her still-heaving chest before slowly lifting his eyes to her mouth. Without hesitation, he released her arms, grasped her waist, and angled his lips to kiss her.

She giggled at him, pulling out of his reach and sliding off his lap into the seat next to him. "Could you be any more of a cliché?"

"Asked the woman who just literally threw herself at me," chuckled Clark, leaning over to nuzzle the side of Lois's neck and to tickle his fingers across her stomach.

She jumped in a reflexive fit of laughter and tried to wriggle away from him, but he kept her close. Forced to resort to other means, Lois called out to the front of the bus, announcing to her friends that Kara was finished giving Clark his earful and that he was consequently all theirs. A few of the women immediately got up and headed back to collect Clark. Bart, however, beat them to him and hurried him up, explaining that several of the partygoers had begun debating which of Edge City's two stars should take the last shot if the game came down to it. At last, Clark ceased tickling Lois and got to his feet. Still laughing, Lois smacked him across his backside as he shuffled past her. He smiled down at her in response and then entered the aisle to join his groomsman and Lois's friends.

Stuart rose to follow the group, but Clark, seeing him get up, told him, "Oh, you don't have to come. We'll just be talking shop up there."

"Yeah, hang back here," added Bart, pushing Clark along. "Basketball isn't really your thing."

If Stuart was disappointed by Bart's second, Bart was in too much of a rush to notice. No sooner had Stuart retaken his seat, though, than Lois was plopping down next to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Men, am I right?" she quipped.

Stuart couldn't help chuckling and, as Lois gave him a reassuring squeeze, he didn't at all mask the smirk in his voice when he claimed to have no idea what she was talking about.


	26. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Twelve

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER TWELVE

* * *

The wedding's party planner, having taken a car straight from the rehearsal luncheon restaurant to the airport, was waiting out on the tarmac as the bachelor party's coach bus pulled up alongside their chartered flight. Calling up the stairs of the aircraft, the planner beckoned his handful of assistants, who promptly emerged decked out in basketball gear and carrying trays full of Jell-O shots.

The excited partygoers, awing at the size of the plane and rooting at the sight of their reception, began to disembark the bus the moment it came to a full stop. Bart, however, ordered Clark to stay put in his seat and weaved his way up the crowded aisle to the rear of the bus. When he got there, he immediately asked Lois what the plan was with regard to Clark partaking. "The blue meteor rock, right?" he pressed. "Does he keep any in his safe room at your apartment? Because I really don't wanna run all the way up to the Fortress."

Lois, chuckling a bit at Bart's eagerness, started to reply, but Kara had overheard him and approached to offer an alternative. "Actually, he's welcome to one of my suppressants," she said, pulling a tiny drawstring bag from her jeans pocket and opening it to reveal several pills. "They're from home, formulated by a friend of mine. They only inhibit metabolic processes, so they won't affect Clark's abilities. Much better than exposing him to any kind of Kryptonite."

"Do they work?" asked Bart.

Jimmy chimed in with a laugh. "Oh, they work all right. I took her to a karaoke bar the last time she was here. Two drinks in and she was belting out _Call Me Maybe_ on a loop for, like, half an hour. It was hilarious."

Kara scoffed, poking Jimmy in his side. "You said you thought it was sexy."

"It was both. What, a guy can't find your silly side hot?"

Bart rolled his eyes as Kara giggled and Jimmy hugged her waist. As those in the back of the bus then began heading toward the front, Bart grabbed one of Kara's pills and rushed ahead of everyone else to deliver it to Clark. Lois saw Clark eye the suppressant with hesitance as Bart explained it to him. However, after Bart gestured back at Kara and she gave a few words of assurance, Clark accepted the offering and let Bart hustle him off the bus.

"Looks like Frodo wasn't kidding about that mission," joked Lois, soon stepping out onto the tarmac and watching Bart throw back a shot with Clark, Carissa, Daniel, and several others.

Stuart, who was next to Lois, muttered something in response to her remark. The wind whipping across the open space kept Lois from making him out; however, she did detect a distinct note of grumbling sarcasm in his tone. In an attempt to perk him up, she gave him a lighthearted nudge, but her present effort wasn't quite as successful as her earlier one had been.

Over nearer to the plane, Lois then observed Bart dashing up its stairs and passing by Oliver, whom she noted was once again by himself. Her attention was soon drawn back to the tarmac, though, when one of the party planner's assistants came upon her and the others with whom she was standing. Everyone but Lois and Stuart, the former of whom was abstaining along with the rest of her bridal party, accepted a shot or two from the handsome, sprightly young man.

Before leaving to circulate the remaining glasses on his tray, the assistant recognized Stuart and his already jovial expression lit up still more. "Hey, you're the guitarist from the ceremony rehearsal, right?" he asked him. "I was in the hall helping out this morning. I saw your solo during that, uh, prank or whatever it was. You're really good."

Stuart received the assistant's praise with casual courtesy, but he visibly puffed up. Indeed, he took as much pride in his musical proficiency as in his computing genius.

"You must practice a lot," the assistant replied, obviously encouraged by Stuart's response to his flattery.

"Not really, to be honest. I've sort of always just had a knack for it."

The assistant smiled, giving Stuart a brazen once-over, and stepped a little closer to him. "Something tells me the guitar isn't the only thing you have a knack for."

Caught off guard, Stuart chuckled and clumsily rubbed the back of his neck.

Lois, meanwhile, snorted in amusement along with several other onlookers and said to the assistant, "Wow. You're not shy, are ya'?"

"Life is for the living, right?" he happily returned, before looking back to Stuart. "I really hope I'm not making you uncomfortable, because I'd like to ask you out - when I get off the clock, that is. My boss would fire me for doing it now. Something about professionalism." At that, Stuart lowered his hand from his neck and grasped with more effort for his bearings. The assistant, charmed all the more by Stuart's continued delay and assuming it was merely the result of him being put on the spot, held up his tray and motioned to his remaining shots. "Are you sure I can't interest you in one of these? My odds might improve if you had one," he teased.

Stuart shook his head and, finally finding his voice, replied, "No, thanks. Jell-O's always made me wanna upchuck. The texture."

"Ah, that's too bad. But there's plenty of other stuff on the plane. Can I get you something else?"

Just then, Bart surprised everyone by appearing out of nowhere and promptly insinuating himself between the assistant and Stuart. "Thanks, but he's good," Bart pointedly told the other man, while making a show of reaching behind himself to hand Stuart the packet of salt, wedge of lime, and shot of tequila he'd boarded the plane to gather.

The assistant didn't fail to take Bart's meaning, but he nevertheless peered back at Stuart for his say. With a look of consolation, Stuart gave a slight nod. The assistant sighed in disappointment. However, it took him no more than a moment or two to recover his cheer, and he left Stuart with a wink, telling him, "Well, if you get a taste for something different, I'll be around."

Bart's brow descended into a scowl as he watched the assistant swagger off. Lois chuckled and bumped Stuart, who could hardly suppress the grin Bart had unwittingly plastered on his face.

When Bart finally turned around to face Stuart, he ignored what he knew to be the smirking expressions of Lois and the others, and waited for Stuart to down his shot. When Stuart had finished it, Bart shifted in embarrassment and mumblingly asked him whether he wanted another.

"Thanks, but I'm good," answered Stuart, his eyes saying still more than his few words.

After an awkward beat, Bart took Stuart's empties from him and left to corral the other partygoers through security and onto the plane. The second Bart was out of earshot, Lois turned to Stuart, saying, "Let me guess: Tequila's your poison?"

Stuart continued to attempt biting back his grin and refused to acknowledge the obvious truth, provoking everyone nearby to begin ribbing and elbowing him while pronouncing a series of taunting "awws."

Not long thereafter, all the passengers had cleared security and boarded their flight. A company that chartered what it referred to as "party planes" owned the aircraft transporting them. It was a customized Boeing 747, a jumbo jet, with a maximum capacity of one hundred passengers, which allowed plenty of room for the fifty or so partygoers and the couple dozen others - crew members, party planning staffers, and wedding party attendants - aboard it. The plane was divided into three main areas at its fore, middle, and aft. The fore comprised a spacious lounge with couches, card tables, flat panel televisions, and a fully stocked bar. The middle boasted a more energetic, club-like feel; it featured yet another bar, a DJ booth, and a texturized dance floor with a metal pole on the slightly elevated stage near its rear. However, unlike the more forward areas, the aft was an enclosed space, something of a VIP suite. It had a separate bathroom that included a shower and a main area that was part sitting room, part bedroom.

As the partygoers toured the plane, bartenders mixed up a few cocktail requests while flight attendants handed out NBA Finals apparel and accessories - jerseys, shorts, hats, and so forth - to any interested. Most in the crowd readily received the assorted offerings, and a handful of them, the fittest and cockiest of Clark's basketball friends, defied the skepticism of Lois's friends in accepting the ladies' dare to forego the washrooms and change their clothes in full view of everyone else. Having met the challenge to the whistles and applause of the crowd, Clark's buddies turned the tables on Lois's, assuming they'd demur. To their slack-jawed delight, though, every single one of the twenty or so women throughout the plane promptly but slowly stripped down to her underwear before smirking, striking a pose, and then donning her game gear.

Clark couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. Speechless, he turned to Dinah, who was seated next to him on a couch in the lounge, and looked at her in question. She chuckled at him, saying, "They promised you and yours a good time, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Oh, Sugar, it is far too early to feel scandalized. The evening's just begun," smirked Dinah, pressing a warm kiss to Clark's cheek. "Now, here, have a _real_ shot. Better yet, have two."

…

Once the plane had reached its cruising altitude, Lois headed to the corridor between the lounge area and the dance area, picked up one of the corded phones she found there, and made a call to the ground.

"_Salut. Ça va?_" said Lois to her godmother, asking her how she was without bothering to identify herself; she knew Aimée didn't need to recognize the number from which she was calling in order to recognize her voice. After Aimée had replied and then inquired after Lois and the bachelor party, Lois got around to the purpose of her call. "About my prenuptial bathing later," she continued in French, "does it absolutely have to happen at midnight?... No, I'm not trying to get out of it; I know it's important to everyone. It's just that I won't have much time to write my vows until later tonight, and I'd really like to get it done before I turn in. That way, I can sleep on it… Fantastic… Tomorrow afternoon's fine. Hair and Makeup probably don't trust me to bathe myself well enough for the ceremony, anyway… All right. Give my love to everybody… You, too. Bye - Wait, wait. Aimée?... Yeah, um, can I maybe come find you and Aunt Moira later if I need help? I know I don't need to ask, but -… Oh, please, don't hit me with the mush. I swore to myself I'd survive this weekend without any public blubbering… Yes, ma'am… Yes, ma'am… I know, I know. 'There's no shame in tears.' You're right… No, I mean it. You're right… You, too. I'll call you ladies when I get in, okay?… _À bientôt_."

Upon hanging up the phone, Lois closed her eyes and took a breath as her godmother's sentiments echoed in her ears and the emotions they'd stirred filled her chest. Feeling more contemplative than she had before she'd placed her call, she opened her eyes to look around her at the thrill and activity throughout the plane. It all seemed less immediate, farther away somehow. She considered her options for a moment, wondering whether she should forget her heightened sensibilities and re-join the partying, or take advantage of them and try scribbling down a few thoughts for her vows. Before long, she decided on the latter and began digging through her purse for a notepad. As she did so, she noticed she'd received a text just before takeoff and she opened it to discover a photo taken at yet another art museum in Metropolis. Smiling, she saved the image to the album that contained the half-dozen other photos she'd received from the same number since late that morning. Before she could finish drafting a return text, though, she felt a distinct pair of broad hands settling on either side of her denim-clad hips.

Putting away her mobile, Lois turned around in Clark's arms and quirked her eyebrows in surprise when he said not a word before leaning down and melding his mouth to hers. He wasted no time in pulling her flush against him and seeking out her tongue. His kiss was sultry, deep. Lois exhaled a reflexive sigh in response to him sliding a hand farther around her and languidly stroking the small of her back. For a while, she almost forgot where they were, but her mind was drawn back to their surroundings when she eventually registered the biting aftertaste of Clark's previous drinks tingeing his palate. Giggling, she drew away from his kiss. "You taste fun," she told him, pausing to observe his glowing cheeks and slightly slower blinking. "You look it too. I assume Kara's suppressant is doing its job?"

"Mm-hmm," hummed Clark, backing Lois into the paneled wall behind her and lowering his lips to her throat.

Lois giggled a bit more as she peered about at the other partygoers, most of whom were too preoccupied to notice her and Clark. The few who did take notice only winked at her and promptly redirected their attentions. As a result, Lois gladly let her eyes fall closed and, in order to better accommodate her intended's ministrations, arched her body away from the wall and farther into his. He reached down to grasp her backside, kneading his fingers into the rough material hugging her curves, and trailed lush kisses across her neck, descending as low as the collar of her shirt would allow. She laced the fingers of one hand into his hair, encouraging him farther. He took her cue, raising his hands to unbutton her top and to slide it off her shoulders. At the sight of more bare skin, he eagerly pressed his lips into the lower slope of her throat and traced them across her collarbone, briefly groaning his resentment of the thin straps of her camisole and bra.

Lois warmed at Clark's quiet, unapologetic protest to being obstructed from even only a couple slivers of her skin. However, as he consoled himself by descending his kisses to her chest and by parting her knees with one of his, she smirked and lowered her chin to whisper in his ear, "I swear, it's like I'm the only thing you ever wanna do when we get you liquored up."

Clark smiled against her skin and pressed his thigh deeper between her legs, murmuring, "Newsflash: That's the case when I'm sober too."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, really. Eating, drinking, working, socializing - all just distractions. All just ways I occupy myself while I count the seconds until I can be with you again… Tick, tock. Tick, tock…"

"Yep. Goin' super-lover on me in full view of others can only mean you're buzzed," Lois returned with amusement, resting her hands on Clark's cheeks and lifting his head. "Enjoying your party so far?" she asked him, nuzzling his nose with hers when she found his gaze.

"Everybody is," he smiled in response, still standing as close to her as possible as he slid her shirt back onto her shoulders. "This is awesome. Thank you."

"Thank our party planner. I just made sure we'd have tickets and a big enough suite for the game. He arranged everything else."

"Still, this was your idea and, knowing you, I'm sure you put way more effort into it than you'll admit." Having purposely left Lois's top unbuttoned, Clark played the backs of his fingers down the front of her undershirt and lowered his voice to a suggestive volume, adding, "Of course, if you don't want me telling you how grateful I am, I'd be more than happy to show you…"

Lois felt herself flush, swell, and Clark's hearing triggered at the sound of her heart's flutter. She swallowed hard, lowering her eyes to watch Clark's fingertips as he slipped a few of them underneath the thin fabric of her camisole and ran them along the skin just above her jeans. Instinctively, she licked her lips at the sensation of his touch so low against her belly, and when she finally lifted her gaze back to his, she found that his had yet to leave hers.

"You're blushing, Lane," he whispered to her, toying with her jeans' top button.

She didn't waver, didn't so much as flinch. "You can't embarrass me, Kent."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I happen to know you only turn this particular shade of red when I do something else to you entirely."

Lois couldn't but smile, a deep chuckle bubbling up from her throat as she wordlessly acknowledged herself impressed with Clark's atypically public display of sexuality. Congratulating himself with a lopsided grin, Clark leaned down to wrap Lois in a bear hug and to dot a few playful kisses to her cheek. He was soon interrupted, however, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking around behind him, he found Bart and Jimmy shaking their heads at him.

"What?" asked Clark, confused.

"Seriously, CK?" smirked Jimmy. "You said you just needed to hit the head. You said you'd be back in one minute."

"I lost track of time?"

"Like hell you did," returned Bart. "Dude, you do this _every time_ we all drink together. Thirty minutes in and you're off somewhere groping Lane."

Clark laughed, "You guys aren't expecting an apology, are you?"

"I know I'm not," interjected Lois, chuckling.

Bart ignored the bride's retort and grabbed the plastic shot glass hanging from the beaded necklace Clark had thrown over his back just before coming upon Lois. Having filled the glass to its brim with tequila from the bottle he was holding, Bart held it out to Clark. "What we expect is for you to swig this and get back in the lounge. We've got the pre-game shows on. ESPN's about to air its interviews with the head coaches."

Releasing Lois a bit, Clark turned farther around and grimaced at the drink in Bart's hand. "I've already had four Jell-Os and two rums, buddy, and it's barely five o'clock in the evening."

While Bart and Jimmy worked on talking Clark into the shot, citing his weight, his recent meal, and his last night as a bachelor, Lois gathered her purse and began slipping away toward the quiet of the VIP suite. Clark took notice of her abandoning him and turned around to protest.

Giving him a quick kiss goodbye, Lois told him, "I've got vows to get crackin' on."

Clark frowned, "But -"

"- But nothing. This was your idea, remember?" As Clark continued to direct a shameless pout at her, Lois chuckled and suggested to Bart and Jimmy, "One of you take the shot and the other get Smallville a beer instead - unless you want him sneaking off for another fix of me."

Bart and Jimmy agreed. The former downed the tequila in one gulp; the latter began pushing a reluctant Clark away from his fiancée and toward the lounge bar.

Back in the plane's club space, its DJ had everyone out on the dance floor, swerving and grinding to a thumping beat. As Lois weaved her way through the crush of bodies, she managed to get one of her friends' attention long enough to ask her whether there was anything illicit already going on behind the closed door of the VIP suite. The other woman couldn't be certain either way, but did tell Lois that she hadn't noticed anyone head in or out since they'd all peeked through before takeoff. "Although, if it is unoccupied, don't count on it staying that way all evening," added the woman with a wink, motioning toward the man pressed to her front and the man pressed to her back. "I like the way these two move."

Laughing, Lois continued on to the suite, rapping on its door before turning its handle. As she stepped inside, she found that the spacious, softly lit area was in fact not vacant. The sole occupant she came upon had apparently been deep in thought, because he started at the blare of club music suddenly pouring in.


	27. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Thirteen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER THIRTEEN

* * *

Lois snickered at Oliver's jolt of surprise and, raising her voice to carry over the music blaring in through the open door behind her, greeted him with, "Hey there, stranger."

"Hey yourself, lovely," returned Oliver, his reply as smooth as ever but his mannerisms somewhat awkward as he rose from the edge of the bed on which he'd been sitting. "Are you looking for me?"

Lois studied Oliver from her remove on the opposite side of the plane's VIP suite. After a beat or two, she replied that she'd actually been trying to find someplace peaceful enough for her to start working on her vows.

"Oh. Let me get out of your way, then," said Oliver, advancing to grab his blazer off the sofa arm in the sitting area where she was standing.

As Lois expected, he then paused at her side in order to kiss her temple on his way out. She availed herself of his nearness, scrutinizing him further as he leaned down, offered her his departing affection, and drew away. It was plain to her that despite his ease, something with him was amiss. Before he could disappear, therefore, she reached behind her to push the door closed, keeping him inside with her. The moment the door clicked shut, the suite fell almost entirely silent, save for the muted drone of the plane's engines. From the hush, Lois realized why Oliver hadn't noticed her presence until she'd entered: the space had apparently been constructed as soundproof, so effectively so that even the thumping club noise just opposite it had no way of being heard from within.

Oliver looked from the door to Lois. But despite the concern her expression conveyed, he attempted to keep their mood light, joking, "Is this the part where the kitschy porn music comes in and you drag me over to the bed?"

Lois humored him by smiling a bit, but she wouldn't allow him to avoid the question in her eyes. After a brief lull, she squared herself to him and curled a hand around the nape of his neck. "What's going on, Ollie?" she gently asked him.

"Going on? Nothing," he insisted, barely managing to articulate with conviction.

"Well, something's obviously on your mind," she returned, soothingly trailing her fingers through the base of his hair. "You've been in your own world since we left the luncheon… You're not anxious about tomorrow, are you?"

Oliver sighed. Lois had asked him the right question but for the wrong reason. As it was, though, he'd already failed in his endeavor to avoid arousing her concern while he worked through the thoughts that'd been consuming him for the last hour or so. And even as much as he regretted the mistruth with which he was preparing to answer her, he wouldn't allow himself to betray his true state of mind, lest he give her cause to continue probing him and he ultimately lose what little remained of his hold on his peace. Accordingly, he lifted his hands to cup the sides of her face as he replied in earnest, "I'm not anxious."

"Honestly? Because it's okay if you are. There's no rule against being a bridesmaid and a boyfriend at the same time. I don't need to be handheld."

"I know, I know. But, really, I'm not anxious - not as far as Birdie goes, anyway. If anything, I'm just a little uneasy about the big sit-down I need to have before I even think that far ahead. Danny, believe it or not, is gonna be the toughest sell of all. He doesn't kid when it comes to his sister's happiness."

"It's a good thing you don't either, then," replied Lois, having lifted her chin to press her lips to Oliver's brow. "Maybe talk to Danny first, just the two of you. He'll appreciate that. It'll give him the chance to be more direct and it'll show that you take him as seriously as you take Dee and Larry."

Oliver, inwardly relieved that he'd been able to dispel Lois's worries, nodded his gratitude for her suggestions and support. In an effort to further divert her thoughts, he then caressed her cheeks a bit and, with a smirk, remarked on the elevated temperature of her skin. "Are you warm, Legs? Don't get me wrong, I think we both know I still have this effect on you, but -"

"- Oh, eat me," chuckled Lois, pushing Oliver in his chest and walking off toward the suite's bathroom. "I guess you've been too preoccupied rehearsing for Danny to notice, but this party's already getting a little randy. Smallville cornered me a few minutes ago. He's sorta handsy when he's soused. It's adorable, actually."

Oliver followed Lois into the bathroom and sat back against the edge of the vanity while she leaned forward over it to observe her still-flushed face in the mirror. "Handsy and adorable, huh?" he said, not bothering to temper the derision in his tone. "I bet that'd be generously describing him as a lay too."

Lois cut her eyes at Oliver as she took off her button-down, ran some water over a nearby towel, and pressed the cool cloth to her chest and neck. "Watch it, Queen."

"Hey, I'm only stating the conclusion the facts suggest," laughed Oliver, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "C'mon, how respectable could Clark Kent - Mr. Conservative, Mr. Vanilla - possibly be as a lover? The guy was terrified to even touch the one - _one_ - other woman he's been with and he couldn't have slept with her more than a dozen times. I mean, just do the math: In years of on-again, off-again with her, he was 'mortal' for all of one week, she had his abilities for less than one day, and then she had that power-suit for, what, a little over twenty-four hours before it got loaded with Kryptonite. So, yeah, those two couldn't possibly have managed more than a dozen fumbling, infrequent rounds with each other - which means the odds are slim to none that ol' Clarkie learned anything useful from that farce of a physical relationship.

"And you know what's even more telling about him? It's that on the two occasions when your sole predecessor was suped up enough for him to quit ignoring her needs, she never stuck around for an encore. She was so underwhelmed by his performance that she chose running off to bully Lex or running off to patrol Metropolis over continuing to go at it with the man she next-to-never got the chance to and who she considered - still considers, according to my beautiful Birdie - her one and only."

The moment Oliver concluded, he realized that he'd gone farther than he'd intended to. Fortunately for him, however, the look he turned to discover Lois giving him bespoke curiosity as to the source of his information rather than offense over his mocking manner in pronouncing it. With a casual shrug, he thus stood up and ambled around behind her, explaining, "Chloe liked to gossip - a lot." Then, lowering his chin to Lois's shoulder and brushing a few fingers across the fabric of her camisole, he continued, "And from what she told me of her best friend's past and from how much of a prude I've always known him to be, I'm convinced that even after over a year under your expert tutelage, there's still no way your Boy Scout's taking care of you."

Finding Oliver's eyes in the mirror, Lois returned, "Not as well as you did, you mean?"

"_Nowhere near_ as well as I did, I mean. Hell, I've seen the guy turn up at Watchtower red-faced and spent after you've had your way with him. There's clearly no way he matches me for stamina and, with his build, there's also no way he matches me for bending to a lady's desires…" Reaching forward, Oliver placed his hands on the vanity on either side of Lois as he quietly added, "To be honest, Legs, had someone told me you'd end up with him, I may have reconsidered setting the bar so high. Of course, you deserve only the best, so, in the end, even knowing your future wouldn't have stopped me from giving you exactly that… It's just too bad Clark can't offer you the same."

Lois made no immediate reply; she merely held the reflection of Oliver's focused gaze. The two of them seemed always to be teetering on the verge, flirting with the undeniable appeal of the depths that lay below, but remaining too conscious of their devotions elsewhere to ever chance a fall. Still, neither wished for even the slightest retreat from their precarious positioning. They'd shared too much, grown too intimate to settle for ground less dangerous than that on which they were accustomed to being. Moreover, any withdrawal to safety would suggest they couldn't be trusted so close to the brink, and that impression was one they'd no sooner give themselves than they'd give their significant others.

Finally blinking, Lois averted her eyes from Oliver's as she recalled chatting about him with Dinah that morning. Perhaps her bridesmaid had been right: Being apart doesn't alter the nature of what lies between lovers; that space, once shaded, will forever be at least a little gray.

Embracing Dinah's notion, Lois thus set aside her damp towel and turned around to face Oliver. "Do you honestly think I'd still be with Smallville if he wasn't keeping up?" she smirked, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Oliver smiled, bending down to her eyelevel. "I think if you're under the impression that he is keeping up, then we need to have Emil examine you for signs of alien hypnosis."

Lois giggled, "Because there's no chance that Smallville's become as good an apple as you are an orange?"

"Your words, not mine."

"Oh, Ollie…" she teasingly sighed, pecking the tip of his nose. "Smallville's conservative; that doesn't mean he's close-minded. He's vanilla; that doesn't mean he's dull. And as for inexperienced, well, he's been an eager learner and a very quick study. So, sorry to hit you where it hurts, handsome, but my Boy Scout takes excellent care of me."

Oliver answered Lois with only a snort, making it plain that any attempt to alter his opinion was futile. Lois rolled her eyes and started to shove him away, but, anticipating her, he caught one of her hands and circled an arm around her waist to keep her close to him. She cocked her head at him, continuing to feign indignation at his disbelief.

"Ah, go easy on me, Legs," said Oliver, his taunting tone becoming heartfelt as he pressed Lois's hand to his chest. "It's just that I've never trusted anyone's arms around you but my own."

His sentiment couldn't but draw from her a smile, which he reciprocated as she rested her free hand on his upper arm and settled into his embrace.

The distant whirring of the plane's engines filled the otherwise silent space within the bathroom while Oliver nestled his cheek against Lois's temple and began gently swaying them to a melody only they could hear. With her eyes closed and her mind adrift, Lois barely perceived Oliver's voice when he addressed her some time later.

"Nothing about us ever felt wrong, did it?" he quietly asked.

She thought for moment, then told him, "Still doesn't."

"But…" he whispered.

"But…" she echoed in kind.

"I don't awe you the way he does."

"I don't unnerve you the way she does."

Their acknowledgements, tender with more reminiscence about their past than regret about their present, lingered in the air. In time, Oliver spoke again, his voice all the more feeling.

"That aside…" he said, still easing them side to side across the small floor space in front of the vanity. "You've never ceased to amaze me, Legs. And of all the things that make you so exceptional, what's always set you so far apart in my eyes is that even for as hard as you can be to like, you're the easiest person in the world to love."

Lois chuckled a bit, replying, "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"No. It was much more than that," murmured Oliver into her hair, rubbing her back and quieting her amusement. "Fact is, Lois, you overwhelm everybody you meet. You're loud, brash. You do practically all of the talking. You nail people down immediately and you're pretty much never wrong about them. It's unreal, maddening. Five minutes in and most have had their fill of you for a lifetime. That wasn't the case for me, obviously; we'd barely met before I knew I'd never get enough of you… As for everyone else, as for those of them strong enough to survive their initial encounter with the force of your nature, they eventually realize what I knew from the start: You are impossible not to love. And knowing you, being a part of your life - that's a privilege… a privilege that only someone undeserving could ever abuse."

There was no mistaking the emotion that'd begun to constrict Oliver's throat as he abruptly cut short his and Lois's dance. Taken aback, Lois leaned her head away from him and peered up into his eyes. They were damp with unshed tears.

Oliver released Lois from their embrace and averted her gaze, muttering to himself, "Damn it, I can't do this…"

"You can't do what?" asked Lois, reaching up to cradle the sides of his face in her hands.

Oliver pulled back from her and left the bathroom. Lois tossed off her glasses and followed behind him, worrying more and more with each passing second.

Walking aimlessly about the sitting area of the suite, Oliver rambled on under his breath. He cursed himself. He cursed his predicament.

"What's wrong, Ollie?" pressed Lois, having grasped his forearm to keep him from wandering too far away. "Talk to me. I'm right here."

All of a sudden, Oliver stopped pacing and turned to face her. There was anguish in his gaze but obstinacy in his features. To Lois, it was clear that he was conflicted, desperate to articulate and yet determined otherwise. Whatever the reason for his reluctance, though, she didn't care. She could sense that his present state stemmed from something deep-rooted, old. And she refused to let him torment himself by keeping it buried.

With her eyes, she pleaded with him to say something, anything.

Oliver looked away from her. Then, after a weighty stretch, he sighed in surrender and returned his gaze to hers, confessing, "I don't understand what you're doing here. I've wanted to. I've tried to. But I still don't understand and it tears me apart… How can you still be with him?" Oliver watched his question strike Lois with all the force of a blow, and, just as he'd feared, no sooner had he unburdened himself than he was beset with shame for doing so. Alas, there was no turning back from his present course; his only choice was to continue on. "Listen, I respect the guy, okay?" he said, straining to make at least some manner of concession. "What he does for people, what he means to the world - I respect all of that. But… But, Lois, he gets within arm's length of you and all I can see is the man who no one, not even his own mother, could convince to stop lying to you."

Lois, although neither shocked nor insulted by Oliver's sentiments, was rendered speechless just the same. Oliver watched as her eyes lowered to the hold she still had on his arm. He knew she was biding her time, searching for a way to console him. But, loath to allow her time enough to work out a response, he bent down on one knee in order to find her gaze again.

"Leave him," he pleaded with her, his voice raw with desperation.

Still struggling for her bearings, Lois tried to pull him up off the floor. "Ollie -"

"- I am begging you," he insisted, refusing to budge. "Please, leave him. Please."

"You can't ask me that. You know you can't ask me that."

A single tear finally trickled out down Oliver's cheek. He wiped it away angrily as he replied, "Okay. Fine. Stay with him, live with him, work with him - whatever. But, for the love of God, do not marry him. Do not swear yourself to the relationship that nearly got you killed!"

Oliver's final few words, potent and pained, had exploded out at an almost deafening volume. Startled, Lois's thoughts initially ran to fearing that those in the dance area just opposite the suite's door had heard him. However, as she remembered the suite's soundproof structure, she quickly refocused herself on gathering the rest of her composure. Once she'd attained it, she pulled at Oliver's arm again and calmly told him, "I think we just need to talk."

Exasperated by her response, Oliver got to his feet and stormed off to the other side of the sitting area. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is." Lois instinctively started after Oliver once more but decided it would be better to give him space. Halting at a distance, therefore, she continued, "I asked you before you agreed to be a bridesmaid if you'd be okay with all of this. You knew exactly what I was getting at and you said you'd be fine. Which you have been until now. So what changed? What happened?"

"_What happened_?" Oliver echoed in indignation as he turned to face Lois. "What happened is I walk back into that luncheon and I'm met with the absurdity of everybody - your people, most astoundingly of all - fawning over the happy couple. And there's Clark with your arms around him, basking in all that collective goodwill. But, tell me, where does he get the gall to so much as stand in the same room with your family, let alone enjoy their approval? Those men and women are so devoted to you, so protective of you. And if they knew who he really is, if they knew how he betrayed you… For Christ's sake, I'm guilty by association and I'm practically too ashamed to look any of them in the eye. So how the hell does -"

Struck by Oliver's aside, Lois cut in. "- What are you talking about? You're not guilty, Ollie. You told him to tell me. More than that, you never covered for him; you never lied for him. The only person who did that was Chloe. And even so, it's no more her fault than it is yours or anybody else's that Clark didn't come clean until after -"

"- Until after exactly the sort of thing that everyone warned him would happen, did. Me, J'onn, Kara, Jimmy, Carter, Dinah, AC, Victor, Emil, even Bart - every one of us told him that keeping up his double act with you wasn't just disgraceful, it was dangerous!" Pausing, Oliver glanced off for a moment, considered something, and then huffed, "God, I should've just told you myself. The second I found out you were together, I should've given him twenty-four hours to tell you everything before I did it myself. You never would've been in harm's way had I just done the right thing."

With that, Lois began to realize that Oliver's opposition to her prospective spouse wasn't the only matter at issue. Never before had he acknowledged to her what he believed to be his culpability for the eleven months she'd spent unaware of the fact that the everyman she'd been dating and the superhero she'd been befriending were actually the same person. Nonetheless, Lois had always suspected that Oliver lamented not intervening at the time. From his never saying as much aloud, however, she'd also suspected that his feelings about that period were every bit as tender as hers, if not more so. Thus, she'd been just as content as he was to let the matter lie.

By Oliver finally giving voice to his remorse, though, Lois was obliged to no longer avoid the discussion that had indeed been a long time coming for them. In view of that, she determined to reply not to Oliver's disdain for Clark's actions but to Oliver's guilt for his own inactions, the latter of which was in truth the only pang she felt compelled to attempt easing. "You were in an impossible position. You were a bystander," she consequently said to Oliver. "We've always been close, so, sure, you would've been justified in speaking up. But there was no right or wrong thing to do from where you were situated; telling me what Clark still hadn't wasn't your place and wasn't your duty. You had nothing to do with what ended up happening. You can't blame yourself."

Oliver, his body heat rising with his temper, yanked off his blazer and threw it down on the sofa next to him. "'Blame' myself?" he then returned with scorn, while undoing the top buttons of his suddenly stifling shirt. "You make me sound like some self-serving martyr. You make me sound like I'm trying to take on responsibility that doesn't belong to me."

"But that's exactly what you are doing."

"The hell it is! Yes, I do hold myself complicit in the deceit that landed you alone on a rooftop with a maniac. But do I 'blame' myself for what happened that night? No. I blame Clark."

Oliver's belligerent tone sent Lois on the defensive, and before she could think better of her knee-jerk response, she countered with, "Clark wasn't the one holding the sword, Ollie. Zod was."

"Oh, don't you mean 'The Blur'?" he bit back. "Because that's exactly who you had every reason to believe Zod was until he was done with his charade and finally told you otherwise. But, hey, maybe I shouldn't give a damn about why he chose you out of all Clark's nearest and dearest to exploit, to attack. If Clark can't be bothered with regrets, why should anyone else?"

Lois's expression sharpened into a glare as she set her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one side. "Excuse me?"

Oliver had crossed a line and he knew it. Taking a breath, he thus checked his anger and, attempting to return to the objections from which he'd digressed, replied, "I didn't -"

"- You didn't what? Mean that?" snapped Lois, her own emotions running ever higher. "You're goddamn right you didn't. Being abducted, held against his will, and forced to watch me get terrorized because of his duplicity was one of the most traumatic experiences of Clark's life. It triggered his flight, for god's sake. And if you think for even a second that he doesn't regret every omission, misdirection, or flat-out lie that led to Zod making me the object of his Kryptonian justice, then you haven't been paying attention these last couple years. Clark has never stopped reminding himself of that night and he has never denied his fault for it. That's not who he is and that's not someone I'd still be with to this day. But rather than wallow in his guilt, he channels it into what he does, into what he represents. I happen to admire that kind of will. It's part of what makes him who he's become. And that, for the record, is who I'm marrying - not the man he was then but the man he is now."

Oliver sighed, rubbed his brow. "Lois, who he was is exactly why who he is has no right to still be in your life, never mind on the verge of hearing you say 'I do.' He spent _eleven months_ posing to you as both a boyfriend and a best friend. He spent _eleven months_ abusing the ignorance he chose to relegate you to. The moon waxed and waned; holidays came and went; seasons changed - and he was still dragging you down his self-deluded road. That is so much more than procrastination. That is complete and utter failure to appreciate and act in your interests, to put what was best for you over what was convenient for him. That is complete and utter betrayal of your trust, your love. Regardless of whether you forgave him, those eleven months should've forfeited him the privilege of ever seeing or speaking to you again after he finally, _finally_ told you the truth."

The longer Lois allowed Oliver to vent, the more his resentments rose yet again. With increasing volume and vitriol, he thus continued, "But he just couldn't bear to accept the consequences of hurting you, could he? He couldn't bear to do the honorable thing and bow out of your life. Instead, he's a hundred feet away, probably still throbbing from the feel of you against him. But he must know he's not worthy of the pleasure and not worthy of you. Hell, the only person in this world he has earned is somewhere in Amsterdam cozying up to yet another sap she'll only ever see as _not_-Clark Kent! That's who he deserves! His adolescent obsession! His favorite mistake! The woman who had to become human Kryptonite before he got far enough away from her to see their bad romance for what it was and _grow the fuck up_ -"

"- All right, that is enough! Back it down, Oliver."

Lois's rebuke instantly silenced him. Still, face hot and heart pounding, he stood firm opposite her and matched her glower with his own. Several moments passed. The air around them fell still. The air between them remained charged.

At last, Oliver blinked.

Exhaling sharply, he peered up in appeal to a higher power. Then, shifting about and clearing his throat, he made a forcible effort to calm himself. Eventually, the scowl on his face began to ease and his heaving breaths began to slow. Looking back over at Lois, though, he found her posture still unchanged. The sight grieved him. But, before he could repent the state in which his antagonism had put her, she spoke first.

"Have you somehow been under the impression that I don't know _exactly_ how you feel about Clark? I'm not deaf, blind, and dumb. You may respect him as a hero, but you hate him as a man."

Oliver didn't bother to deny Lois's charge. She was right, and he would neither insult her nor humble himself by claiming otherwise. Still, to hear Lois herself articulate his contempt roused in him a sensation that he couldn't identify. It was an ache, a sorrow of some kind. And whatever its cause, it left him crestfallen and incited him to reply with only a quiet, distant, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

Lois's hostility promptly gave way to frustration and she threw up her hands. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

"I don't know," admitted Oliver. "I don't… I don't know."

"Neither do I! You have every reason to resent Clark. Do you think I'd feel any differently about a woman if she put you through what he put me through? I wouldn't! I care about you entirely too much to ever forgive and forget someone hurting you. Go ahead, then. Hate Clark all you need to; you'll get no pushback from me on that. But -" Lois cut herself short as her voice began to waver. Pausing for a moment, she swallowed against the knot in her throat and squeezed shut her eyes to suppress the tears threatening to form in them. Once composed, she re-opened her gaze to find Oliver, his face stricken with concern, drawing nearer to her. He was still a few strides off, though, and forced himself to progress no farther when she set to resuming her avowals. "But what I will not stand for is you punishing yourself because you think he hasn't punished himself enough. He wanted to be the one to tell me and, after all that time, he damn well should've been. Everything that happened up until he did is on him, no one else. You did nothing wrong, Ollie."

Oliver huffed, hanging and shaking his head. He saw the logic to Lois's perspective. He wanted to accept it, its absolution. But he couldn't. "Maybe I shouldn't have set things right myself. But it was my responsibility to see to it that he did."

"No, it wasn't -"

"- Yes, Lois! It was."

"Why?"

"Why else? Because I love you! Because I've always loved you," he returned, his eyes brimming yet again as he began to understand the basis for his previously ineffable ache. "What kind of person feels for someone like I feel for you and just stands by while their emotions get betrayed and their trust gets abused? A failure, that's what kind. A failure with no right to so much as -"

At the sight and sound of how upset Oliver was again becoming, Lois attempted to quiet him by crossing the small distance between them and reaching out to him. Oliver recoiled, taking hold of her hands and pulling them away from his face.

"Don't do that," he told her, turning away. "I don't want consolation for this. I don't want forgiveness."

Lois resisted. "Believe me, I'd give you exactly that if I could," she told him, grabbing his arms and jerking him back around to face her. "But I can't. _I'm_ not the one blaming you."

Oliver made no reply as he tried to shrug himself free from Lois's grasp without outright overpowering her. She only held him tighter, though, refusing to let him go.

"What's it gonna take, Ollie? What can I say? What can I do?"

Several tears streaked down his face at once as he grated out in both anger and anguish, "You know what."

Lois looked off to the side, struggling to keep her own emotions from spilling over in sympathy for Oliver's. "I won't leave him," she replied, unable to meet Oliver's gaze as she uttered the words.

"But you could. You could walk away and never look back. You'd miss him, but you'd move on just the same. You're surrounded by too much love and you enjoy too many other things about your life to let the loss of him diminish it. -"

"Ollie…"

"- And you'd meet someone else soon enough. Someone who amuses you, challenges you, worships you. There are plenty of other men in this world who can make you happy."

"I know, Ollie," sighed Lois, finally returning her eyes to his. "But I've been all over, I've come across all kinds, and I've still yet to encounter another man quite like Clark. There are other incredible complements for me out there, sure. I've been with a few of them - you, in particular. Everything I've seen and everything I feel, though, tells me Clark's the one."

Oliver paused, regarding Lois plaintively. She held his gaze for several moments before his damp cheeks drew her consideration. Lifting her hands to his face, she brushed away as many of his tears as she could. When she finished, she peered back up to find him still focused on her.

"Clark is no different from the rest of us, Lois," said Oliver, his tenor almost apologetic. "Some of us recognize your beauty, most of us don't. Some of us learn your compassion, most of us can't. But we're all the same… All of us are men; none of us are angels."

A visible shudder ran through Lois as Oliver's words resonated deeper than he could know. She blinked once, twice. For a moment, though, all she could see, hear, or think of was her mother.

Without warning, the suite door swung open and club music rushed in, startling Lois out of her reverie. Oliver, too, was shaken. And as both he and Lois perceived Dinah's laugh accompanying the din, they instinctively recoiled from one another.


	28. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Fourteen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER FOURTEEN

* * *

"Hey, Lane, are you in here?" chuckled Dinah, tugging Bruce along behind her as she made her way through the door. "Your maid of honor hasn't seen you for all of fifteen minutes and now he's convinced he's being remiss in his duties…"

Dinah trailed off and her amusement quickly faded as she and Bruce came upon the scene in the party plane's VIP suite. They observed Lois and Oliver retreating from each other - the former taking a step back; the latter, several. Both were missing layers of clothes - Lois was down to her camisole; Oliver, down to his dress shirt, which was messed and mostly unbuttoned. Lois's no longer bespectacled eyes were watery and red, and Oliver, whose back was turned as he withdrew out of the sitting area, was wiping at the undersides of his eyelids.

Several seconds passed before anyone said or did anything.

Finally, both Bruce and Dinah were incited to action. Bruce turned to shut the suite door and then approached Lois. Dinah began heading toward Oliver.

"What's the matter?" asked Bruce, his tone gentle as he addressed Lois but his gaze severe as he glanced over at Oliver.

Lois, flustered, barely heard Bruce; she'd been focused on Dinah from the moment she'd entered the suite. "N-Nothing. Nothing's the matter," she thus absently told Bruce, her eyes still on Dinah as she passed by her on her way to Oliver. "I was just, um, I-I was gonna work on my vows. But… Dinah, this isn't -"

Abruptly, Dinah stopped, turned on her heel, and held up a discouraging finger to warn Lois against continuing. "- You know the cliff edge I'm far too liberal-minded to give a shit about you and Oliver playing near?" she said to her, her voice as harsh as her gaze. "I'll throw you over it myself if you insult me by finishing that sentence with 'what it looks like.' I know exactly what the hell _this _-" - gesturing between Lois and Oliver - "- is. But, for the record, 'platonic' is still the last goddamn thing anybody but you would call it."

Lois neither could nor would say anything in response.

Dinah resumed her path toward Oliver while Bruce removed his suit jacket and helped Lois on with it.

Oliver tensed as Dinah arrived at his side. He could sense the chill in her glare and the menace in her bearing.

"What have you done?" she all-too evenly asked him.

"He hasn't done anything," insisted Lois, whose attempt to go to the couple on the other side of the suite was prevented by Bruce's arms circling her waist, holding her back.

Dinah didn't so much as acknowledge Lois's interjection. Oliver sighed, looked farther off from Dinah. After a pregnant pause, though, he steeled himself and he met her gaze in order to say aloud what she already knew: "I don't want her marrying him."

At that, Dinah exhaled a sharp breath and stalked off out of the suite.

In the meantime, something within Bruce snapped. "What did you just say?" he demanded of Oliver, letting Lois go and slowly advancing on the other man.

Bruce's blatant hostility further provoked an already piqued Oliver. Squaring himself to Bruce, Oliver thus assumed a similarly belligerent attitude as he returned, "I said I don't want her marrying that son of a bitch. I said the least I can do to atone for standing by while he humiliated, exploited, and jeopardized her is stop her from promising her life to him."

"And is that what you've been telling her? Is that why there are tears in her eyes?"

Lois panicked. There was no mistaking the end toward which Bruce and Oliver were headed, but she went after Dinah instead.

Dinah had left the suite door slightly ajar, and as Lois peered out of it, she saw Dinah grabbing one of their more sober friends off the club space's dance floor, saying something to her, and gesturing over her shoulder toward the suite. Assuming that Dinah was charging their friend with guarding the lockless door, Lois turned back and hurried to Bruce, who'd removed his vest, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and gone to stand directly opposite Oliver.

"Get out of my face," snarled Oliver to the slightly taller but distinctly broader man.

Bruce, with simmering indignation, returned, "I'll do no such thing. You have had months to voice whatever objections you have. To unburden yourself now serves only you, not her."

"And how the hell would you know that? You weren't around back when that piece of shit was lying to her day in and day out, so don't stand here pretending righteousness. Not when we both know that had you been in her life then, had you been at the hospital the night he got her attacked, you would've found whatever meteor rock leveled you two and you would've thrashed him to within an inch of his life - to say nothing of what you would've done to him had she died."

Bruce encroached still farther on Oliver as Lois reached for his right hand, which was clenching into a fist. "If you think me likely to have dealt with Kent in such a manner," he seethed, his voice suggesting every bit of the violence of which he was capable, "then what means do you suppose I'll resort to if you continue upsetting her?"

Eyes sharpening and shoulders setting, Oliver countered, "Is that a threat?"

"I don't make threats."

"Careful, Bruce. It's been a long time since you've taken a hit that wasn't absorbed by Kevlar plates and titanium-laced fabrics. Maybe you should suit up before I give you the beating you're asking for -"

Lois tried and failed to insinuate herself between them in time.

Bruce pulled his hand free from Lois's grasp and swung for Oliver's face. Oliver anticipated him, but not enough to duck him entirely. He reeled a bit as Bruce's fist glanced off his cheek. Bruce took to the advantage and set upon Oliver, grabbing the back of his neck, wrenching him forward, and kneeing him in the stomach. Lois yelled something incoherent as Bruce persisted by bringing an elbow down onto Oliver's bent back. Oliver grunted from the impact and fell to a knee, but the adrenaline flooding his system numbed his pain and he rallied. Shouting his fury, he caught Bruce about the waist and lunged up into him. Bruce's body was in the air for only a moment before Oliver drove him into the nearest wall and then slammed him down onto the floor. The wind knocked from his lungs, Bruce could do little to deflect the hail of blows that Oliver then laid into his sides. Soon, however, he recovered his breath and managed to seize Oliver by the throat. Oliver nonetheless struggled free and he and Bruce proceeded to grapple furiously, each intending the other far more harm than he'd thus far done him.

Lois stood over them, pleading with them to stop. Her instincts told her to intervene, throw herself into the fray, but she knew she'd only exacerbate matters were she to get hurt in the process. Before long, though, Bruce had Oliver pinned down to the floor and was cocking his fist in order to deliver what was certain to be a decisive blow. Without a second thought, Lois hurtled forward, only to be caught by her shoulders and hauled backward.

Having forced Lois behind her and out of the way, Dinah stepped forward over Bruce and Oliver. "Knock it off!" she yelled at them, keening her vocal cords in such a way that an inaudible, though nonetheless piercing, cry accompanied her command.

Lois watched as Bruce was halted mid-strike and both he and Oliver, exclaiming in distress, clasped the sides of their heads and collapsed from the terrible reverberating in their ears.

With the two men incapacitated, Lois and Dinah began pulling them apart. Although, whereas Lois was careful in helping Bruce to his feet, Dinah yanked Oliver upright and then shoved him away from the two others.

"You are so fucking predictable!" fumed Dinah, advancing on Oliver as he stumbled backward. "Less than six hours at this wedding and you're already having exactly the meltdown I knew you would!"

Oliver was in no humor to be berated. His ears were still ringing, his breaths were still coming in pants, and his emotions were still wrought. "You know what, save it!" he thus returned. "This has nothing to do with me! This is about her! This is about -"

"- I am not arguing with you, Oliver. Shut up!"

"For whose sake? All four of us know I'm in the right about this, so who is it you're protecting? Can't be Clark. Not unless you've forgotten spending the eleven pre-revelation months of his and Lois's relationship refusing to have anything to do with either him or Chloe! -

"My _god_, it is beyond me that you've survived this long into adulthood being so goddamn sensitive!"

"- And what was your reason?" demanded Oliver, shouting right back at the woman in his face. "Principle! Principle, plain and simple! Lois was nothing more to you then than a leftist loudmouth who also happened to be my ex, but if Chloe and Clark could so deliberately betray the trust of someone as close to them as her, then what faith could you have in their loyalty to you? And besides that, as you've always said, the only thing you have even less tolerance for than people who lie to loved ones is people who lie to themselves! For Christ's sake, Birdie, you were on Lois's side before you two ever learned to agree on something other than me, so don't expect me to believe that you of all people have suddenly become a Clark Kent apologist!"

Shoving Oliver a second and still rougher time, Dinah thundered at him, "I don't expect you to believe anything! I expect you to shut the hell up!"

Just then, the suite door again flew open and Daniel Lance, having insisted his way past the guard Dinah had posted outside, hurried inside. Directing not even a passing glance at Lois and Bruce, Daniel immediately progressed toward his sister, asking her what was wrong. Before she could answer, though, he glimpsed behind her at Oliver, who appeared more put out than he'd ever seen him before. "Are you two arguing?" he consequently asked Dinah, both his concern and his confusion plain. "You just worked things out at lunch. How can you be -"

"- Get out of here, Danny!"

"No," he flatly replied, although his brotherly proprieties trumped even his inebriation as he fought his twin only halfheartedly in dragging him back toward the suite door. "You were upset, I could feel it. And now, you look pissed. Tell me what's going on."

"Bridal party business. Go."

In the doorway, Daniel finally stopped and stood firm. Looking over at Oliver, who'd turned away, he asked his sister, "Are you sure? Because if he's done something, anything to make you -"

"- He hasn't, Danny. Now, please, stay out!"

Having shut the door in her brother's grudging, though nevertheless resigned, face, Dinah huffed, closed her eyes, and took a full minute to calm her temper.

In the quiet of the suite, she then turned to survey her setting. Lois was tending to Bruce despite his gentle insistence that there was no need, and she was also peering over at Oliver every few seconds, observing him for signs of injury. Oliver had made his way to a far corner in the bedroom area and was staring out of a tinted window, his gaze and his mind as far away as the horizon. His breaths had begun to even out, but were a tab hitchy due to the throbbing in his midsection. The red in his cheeks had begun to dissipate, but it remained in and around his eyes. He appeared composed, though nonetheless desolate. After taking a breath, Dinah slowly began her walk back to him. As she passed by Lois, she received a tip of the head in Oliver's direction and a look of worry. She answered it with a look of reassurance.

In arriving next to Oliver, Dinah faced his side and fixed her eyes on his profile. When a few beats had passed, she asked him, "Have you gotten everything off your chest?"

Bristling, Oliver shifted his weight.

"Do spare me the petulance, love," Dinah told him, a threatening edge to her tone. "If there's anything you've left unsaid, then now is the time to make it known. So, I'll ask you again, do you feel Lane is in any way unclear about your objections?"

Oliver shifted again, but in thought rather than in offense. Ultimately, he responded to Dinah with a slight shake of his head.

"Good, then. Because I doubt you could've aired how deeply you loath Clark without also airing how misguidedly you blame yourself. Can I assume Lane has replied to both?"

Oliver offered no answer.

"I'll take that as a yes. And now, since you've finally heard her, it's time you finally _listen_ to me."

Long moments passed before Oliver would allow himself to submit. In the end, he did so not for his own sake, but for Lois's. Exhaling a breath, he thus turned his head and looked Dinah in the eye.

"That burn in your veins - it is every bit as much guilt as it is frustration," said Dinah, her manner direct and disinterested. "As for your guilt: Oliver, what happened to Lois was not your fault because Clark's secrets were not yours to tell and Clark's lies were not your responsibility to reveal. Lois is as important as important gets to you, so it's entirely natural that you regret not taking more drastic action on her behalf. But while your regret is founded, your guilt is not. You were forced to suffer Clark's selfishness and self-delusion every bit as much as Lois was. That makes you an injured party, not a liable one. Which is why you have nothing to punish yourself or to apologize to her for. As for your frustration: Oliver, you _don't_ understand how Lois could forgive Clark for the position he put her in because you _can't_ forgive him for the position he put you in. And there is nothing wrong with that. You two experienced Clark's duplicity from entirely different perspectives: inside looking out as opposed to outside looking in. That difference is why she has as much reason for wanting to stay as you do for wanting her to leave. Which means it is as much in her interest as in yours for you to stop trying to make sense of why she's still with him. You'll never understand it - if for no other reason than that you're simply not like her. None of us are."

Crossing her arms, Dinah took a harsher tone as she concluded, "What you can understand, though, is this: Lois didn't ask you to be in her wedding because she needs you to support her relationship. She's no fool; she's always known what you think of Clark and why. What she needs you here for is to support _her_, to help her. Because she enjoys few things more than she enjoys you, and because surviving this weekend seems far less daunting to her with you around… But what you're doing right now, Oliver, is so _not_ helping."

As always, Dinah had a way of getting through to Oliver more efficiently than anyone else was able to. In the nearly two years since the attempt on Lois's life, he'd only ever judged his bystander's role in the months preceding it as tantamount to that of an offender, not to that of an offended. Indeed, how could he view matters otherwise? He cared far too deeply for Lois to absolve himself for his complicity in the circumstances that he had the power, even if not the right, to change.

However, in both Lois's and Dinah's views - the former subjective, the latter not - he was blameless not only for what Lois had unwittingly endured but also for his scorn of the man who'd put her through it. Thus, gradually and not without difficulty, he finally began to allow himself the forgiveness he'd long refused: his own.

Of his change of feeling toward himself, though, Oliver said nothing. Instead, he solemnly articulated to Dinah a sentiment that comprised the whole of his unshakable grievance against Clark: "…He doesn't love her like I do."

Dinah sighed at him and shook her head a bit. However, before quitting his side without so much as a comforting squeeze of his shoulder, she returned with what he nevertheless knew to be her sympathies, "_Nobody_ loves her like you do."

No sooner had Dinah left than Lois appeared, wrapping her arms around Oliver. He welcomed her embrace, apologized for his volume, his vulgarity. She told him there was nothing to be sorry for, but forgave him in any case.

Meanwhile, Dinah took a seat over on the sofa, allowing Lois and Oliver their resolution. Bruce stood nearby, peering down at Dinah as she settled in and then back at Lois as she fussed over Oliver, asking him if he was hurt and how badly. The contrast between how the two women related to Oliver struck him. Where one was brusque, intolerant, the other was gentle, indulgent. Nevertheless, the depth of feeling for Oliver was no less palpable from Dinah than from Lois. The observation confounded Bruce. To his understanding, only by tenderness did one convey compassion. However, in defiance of that conviction, he'd witnessed in aggression and in candor as affecting a display of concern as any he'd ever seen. It would seem, therefore, that in quieting Oliver, the person who Dinah was protecting was in fact Oliver himself. She abided his anguish no more than Lois. She simply demonstrated as much in a manner less readily apparent to those either unfamiliar with or unappreciative of the harsher forms of affection.

In consequence of his musings, Bruce couldn't but consider Diana Prince. To even acknowledge his presence appeared to repulse her. And yet, there were moments - a glance in his direction across a crowded room; a change in her posture when he walked by - that could suggest she wasn't of only one mind about him. Perhaps, then, his regard for her hadn't ceased to be reciprocated. Perhaps, then, the current distance between them was intended as some sort of mercy, or even as some sort of lesson that, if learned, could lead to… But no. She'd gone off him, he determined. There was no other conclusion to draw following their exchange just before the ceremony rehearsal that morning. If anything, that he ever supposed some error on his part to be the cause of their estrangement betrayed him vain, presuming in his sway over her sensibilities. Fact was, Diana's affinity for him had simply faded; their time as intimates had simply passed.

Before Bruce's self-deprecating could further devolve into self-loathing, his attention was drawn back to Dinah as she cleared her throat at him for a second time and patted the seat cushion next to her. Taking her cue, Bruce sat down beside her. Dinah then rested a hand on his knee and leaned into him, whispering, "You do realize, of course, that if I find you've caused Mr. Queen any lasting pain, I'll have to permanently deprive you of your hearing?"

Bruce, grateful for Dinah's unintended distraction, nodded in receipt of her message as he draped his arm onto the sofa back behind her and she relaxed against his side.

The two watched and waited as Lois led Oliver to the suite's bathroom, where he washed the tears and sweat from his face and she tidied his hair and clothes. When they re-emerged several minutes later, Oliver went to Bruce, who rose to his feet and shook his outstretched hand, thus quashing their dispute without a word. Turning to Dinah, Oliver then asked her, "Are we okay?"

Dinah stood and pressed a kiss to his lips, answering his question. "You do owe my brother an explanation, though," she added. As Oliver tipped his head in agreement, Dinah then addressed Lois, telling her that the two men were coming with her and that she was to stay put. Both Lois and Bruce took exception, the former protesting against a timeout and the latter protesting against leaving her.

Dinah chafed, retorting, "Is there some lack of authority in my tone that leads people to think I'm inviting discussion when, in fact, I'm giving orders?"

Lois rolled her eyes and Bruce, prompted by a nudge from Oliver, remained similarly silent.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," returned Dinah. "So, Lane, enjoy the peace and quiet. Cue up some music, doodle in your sketchpad, lie down for a nap - whatever moves you. But I don't want to see you outside this suite until we land. Understood?"

"Does the phrase '_Va te faire foutre_' mean anything to you?"

"As a matter of fact, Frenchy, it does."

After Oliver had kissed Lois's cheek and then followed Dinah out of the suite, Bruce assured Lois that he'd be just on the opposite side of the door, making sure no one disturbed her - although, by "no one," he undoubtedly meant Clark. Lois nodded her acknowledgment and began removing Bruce's suit jacket in order to return it to him. He resisted, however, telling her he'd rather she hang on to it.

"In case you need it," he explained.

Almost immediately after her bridal party had departed, Lois realized that Dinah had been keen in demanding that she hang back by herself. She'd been wearied by emotional exertion. Her head ached and her eyes stung. Moreover, she was certain she looked as worn as she felt. Such a state would go unnoticed by no one and would surely cast a pall over the bachelor party. In the end, though, Lois admitted to herself the underlying basis for her acceptance of her seclusion: She was by no means prepared to encounter her betrothed just yet, not with Oliver's condemnation of his character and his conduct still foremost in her thoughts.

Taking Dinah's initial suggestion, Lois thus went to her purse, took out her phone, and pulled up an album featuring her favorite vocalist. Having pressed play, she hummed along to soothing jazz while she went about washing up and neatening her appearance. Once satisfied that she looked presentable, she slipped Bruce's jacket back on over her re-donned button-down. The jacket's lines and seams naturally lured her notice, and she spent a minute or two re-inspecting her handiwork. While doing so, a small chuckle escaped her as she recalled the first men's suit she'd ever designed and constructed. It'd been a project proposed by her mother, who'd begun worrying about then-seven-year-old Lois's increasing unruliness, but who'd noticed that her daughter remained perfectly calm and content for the short time it took her to mend and even improve whatever in their home she'd found in disrepair. One day, while taking Lois out fabric shopping with her, she'd told her that Aimée had come to suspect that Lois was in fact a budding fellow creative and that her restlessness was in fact artistic energy in need of expression.

At the time, Lois had had no idea what her mother meant. She'd always enjoyed her mother's sewing lessons and had quickly taken to every new instruction, but she'd never thought of sewing as anything but a practical skill, especially given that her mother, though adept, rarely constructed entire pieces or ensembles. With a doting laugh, her mother had explained that her disposition toward seamstry didn't have to be Lois's too, and she'd proceeded to ask her how she'd feel about joining forces to create a suit to welcome her father with when next he was on leave.

Nearly twenty years later, Lois could still remember thinking there'd never been a better idea in the history of ideas, and she could still remember her mother's happiness in witnessing the moment she embraced her gift. Such reminiscence couldn't but offer Lois relief from the stress of present events. However, in thinking on her mother's concerns for her mental well-being, she also found herself recalling her concerns for her emotional well-being. And something that Oliver had said to her, something that he'd all but apologized for just prior to Dinah and Bruce happening upon them, echoed all too eerily the refrain her mother uttered to her with increasing frequency after learning that her cancer was terminal:

_Aucun homme est un ange_…

_No man is an angel…_

Bolting up from the recliner in which she'd seated herself, Lois shook her head in rejection of her line of thought. She needed a diversion, a comfort.

After contemplating her options for a brief moment, she scrambled over to the corded phone resting atop the suite's bedside table. Having picked up the line and dialed a number by heart, she then listened to just one ring before her sister answered her call.


	29. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Fifteen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER FIFTEEN

* * *

After less than an hour of flight time, the bachelor party's plane landed at a busy commercial airport just outside Edge City, Kansas, a sprawling municipality that's population and prominence were second only to Metropolis's in the Midwestern United States. As the plane taxied across the tarmac to the terminal, Lois grabbed her purse and made her way to the VIP suite's door. Upon opening it, she smirked to find Bruce exactly where and how she'd expected, waiting for her just opposite the doorway with an expression of scrutiny on his face.

"Oh, relax," said Lois, handing Bruce his suit jacket while she fiddled with one of her mobiles. "I'm fine."

"…Truly?"

Lois took a quick moment to scan the club space for Clark. The area was still lively and crowded, but the dancing throughout it had given way to mingling since the plane had touched down. Satisfied in having discovered Clark absent, Lois thus returned to Bruce, "Why, you don't believe me? Is there, like, some standard rebound rate after your former rightly criticizes your current, wrongly blames himself, and then gets beaten up by your maid of honor for nothing more than crappy timing?"

Regardless of whether Lois's retort was something of a reprimand, Bruce chose to not hear it as such. "I meant Oliver no significant harm," he evenly told her.

"You were about to knock him unconscious. That's not 'significant'?"

"Not by my standards."

Lois couldn't but chuckle a bit in response to Bruce's entirely humorless reply. "Anyway, you can quit worrying," she went on to say, pulling up the return text she'd drafted earlier. "I talked to Luce for a while. Took my mind off things. I'm good to go."

Bruce, a frown of skepticism on his face, continued to study Lois.

As it happened, a telephone call with Lucy had indeed done Lois well. Although Lucy had remarked on the weariness in Lois's voice after they'd exchanged no more than hellos, she'd acquiesced when Lois resisted explaining the cause for her mood and she'd proceeded to do Lois the favor of carrying on the first several minutes of their conversation almost entirely by herself. Before long, Lucy had Lois laughing at her tales of the antics she'd witnessed during her day at the White House. Lois subsequently asked Lucy about their father. He was fine, reported Lucy, but he'd been poring over Lois's memoir since that morning, and, book still in hand at the workday's end, he'd produced several large bills from his wallet and ordered Lucy out of his offices to go spend the cash on an evening with her friends. Lois expressed concern for her father's behavior, knowing that the events she'd recounted in her memoir had long kept him from having anything to do with it. However, Lucy assured her that she wouldn't have agreed to leave him to himself if he'd seemed upset.

From there, the two sisters chatted idly about everything and nothing. At one point, Lois mentioned the young acquaintance she'd made early that morning, and Lucy awed over the coincidence of Lois encountering an 'Ella' at her wedding, taking it to bode that Lois and Clark were meant to be. Lois, snorting at the notion of fate, mocked Lucy for her uncharacteristic lapse into sentimentality, which prompted Lucy to mock Lois for being too dense to read the universe's signs. They'd poked fun at each other a bit longer, but had ultimately gone on to spend the remainder of their conversation discussing little Marivella García.

While Lois sent her return text to that very girl, Dinah and Oliver came to meet Lois and Bruce. Snickering at the sight of Bruce's frown, Oliver asked Lois, "What's his deal? Don't tell me his check for this weekend isn't clearing."

"Nah, he's just fussing over me. He doesn't realize how often I go twelve rounds with you about something or other."

"And you're still the champ, right?"

"Damn straight, loser."

Oliver, promptly taking Lois at her word, turned to Bruce and gave him a light shove to his shoulder. "See, Wayne? She's as tough as they come. If anyone needs to be coddled, it's you."

Bruce answered Oliver with a glare.

In return, Oliver quipped, "Man, that right there is why our guardians couldn't get us to bond anywhere but on the lacrosse field back in prep school. You never could laugh at yourself."

"Maybe because he's not nearly as much of a joke as you are," interjected Dinah, drawing a scoff of feigned offense from Oliver and smiles of genuine amusement from both Lois and Bruce. Addressing Lois, Dinah then segued to asking her whether she'd mind Oliver skipping the basketball game.

Confused, Lois asked for an explanation, which obliged Oliver to lean closer to her and say, "To be honest, Legs, my head's killing me. I think it'd be best if -"

Lois immediately turned to hiss at Dinah, "- Look what you did! You turned your stupid sonic scream on him and you ended up giving him a migraine. I hope you're happy. Gah! It's a miracle he's survived three years with you with his head still in one piece."

"Allow me to stop you from putting your foot any farther into your mouth by reminding you that I have absolute control over my ability and that I don't cause headaches that I don't intend to."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning that while I do understand why you'd wrongly presume I would ever cause a man we both care for needless pain, it really is a little late in the game for you to start playing the psycho ex-girlfriend with me. Don't you think?"

After rolling her eyes at Dinah, to which Dinah responded with only a smirk, Lois asked Oliver, "What's the matter, then?"

With a casual shrug, Oliver told her, "Eh, my recovery time just isn't what yours is. But, not to worry, I'll get some R-and-R at one of the hotels nearby and I'll meet you guys right back here after the game. By then, I'll be so far in bridesmaid mode that I'll practically reek of taffeta and boredom. Sound like a plan?"

Lois saw no reason to resist Oliver's wish and no point in pressing him about his understandable fatigue. "I don't want you to go by yourself, though," she thus replied, squeezing one of his hands.

Oliver smiled, nudging Dinah as he answered Lois. "Well, what do you know, Birdie said the exact same thing. She's actually insisted that she accompany me - if you can spare her, that is. I told her to be more careful; she's starting to let on that you're not the only woman who looks out for me."

"Who 'coddles' you, you mean."

Bruce's pointed retort prompted light laughs from each of the three others. Their easy air tensed, though, when Clark was heard calling out to Lois from somewhere in the midst of the packed club space. When he finally emerged from the crowd, Lois still had Oliver's hand in hers and she only thought to release it when he took a step back from her and turned away.

"Hey! Here you are!" proclaimed Clark, jovial and boisterous, obviously still enjoying both his party and his buzz. "Where've you been?"

Lois reflexively glanced to her side at Oliver before focusing herself on Clark. She brightened as usual upon seeing him, but she also folded her arms and adjusted her stance a tad, betraying her discomfort in suddenly having Clark in such close proximity to Oliver. Clark didn't fail to note Lois's body language, and his grin consequently wavered as he felt the awkwardness in apparently having interrupted something between her and her bridal party. However, before he could also note Lois's delay in answering his greeting, Dinah spoke up on her behalf.

"For once, she's been exactly where she said she'd be, Sugar. What, were you afraid she'd parachuted off the plane to go follow up on some tip?"

"Wouldn't put it past her," chuckled Clark, dismissing his prior observations and unexpectedly bending down to wrap his arms around his fiancée's hips.

"Oh, my god!" exclaimed Lois, guffawing despite her unease as Clark lifted her off the floor. "Are you nuts? Put me down!"

"Can't hug you if I do that."

"This is not a hug, boozy! This is entrapment."

"Since when do you complain about me carrying you?"

Lois smiled, replying, "You're not carrying me; you're embarrassing me. God, you liquored up is like you on Red-K - without all the animal magnetism."

No sooner did Clark begin to retort than Bart and Jimmy appeared, the former cutting Clark short with a huffy gibe. "Yeah, and just like when you're dosed with the red stuff, we always know exactly where you're bound to head at some point. Geez, Stretch, what could it possibly be about her? She must, like, bathe in a vat of melted peanut butter cups."

"Only on my birthdays."

Clark's remark occasioned chuckles from everyone around, save for a solemn, watchful Bruce and a silent, withdrawn Oliver. Nonetheless, Bart and Jimmy soon joined Lois in insisting that Clark let her go. The groom refused, warning his groomsmen that he was fully prepared to toss the bride over his shoulder and abscond with her if it came to that. Only Lois knew that Clark wasn't kidding, but she failed to stop Bart and Jimmy from calling his bluff and thus provoking him to do exactly as he'd promised.

Nearly everyone throughout the plane cheered the ensuing game of keep-away as Clark took off and Bart and Jimmy gave chase. Lois's half-serious but half-smiling objections only spurred on Clark, who spent a solid minute ducking and dodging the pair attempting to rob him of his bride. By the time he reached the lounge, though, the jet bridge leading to the terminal had been secured and the flight attendants had opened the plane's door for the partygoers to depart. At last, Clark returned Lois to her feet and, while he pretended exhaustion for the sake of those ignorant of his true stamina, Bart and Jimmy pounced on him with retaliatory punches, elbows, and noogies.

Lois laughed along with everyone else, saying to Bart, "Seriously, Frodo? I thought you forbid beating up on him."

"Buzz off, Lane! He wouldn't have this comin' if you weren't around to distract him!"

After Bart had gotten in one last good-humored blow to Clark's midsection, he tasked Kara and Jimmy with getting the groom off the plane and began ordering everyone else to make tracks as well. As the partygoers and their various attendants did as told, Bart scuttled about the rear areas of the aircraft to check for stragglers. Ultimately, he returned to the lounge satisfied that everyone was accounted for. Although, as the last several in the crowd disembarked through the door at the front, he spotted Stuart being delayed by his admirer from earlier, who'd managed to wheedle Stuart's mobile from him. If sober, Bart may have reasoned himself out of taking offense to the party planning assistant's continued pursuit. However, in his tipsy state, he was seized by the singular urge to tear into the other man for disregarding his prior hint and for taking advantage of Stuart's sweet nature.

Muttering profanities, Bart charged toward the scene unfolding on the opposite side of the lounge. Out of nowhere, though, Lois and Dinah stepped directly in his path and stopped him mid-stride.

"The way we see it," said Dinah, her tone light as she slipped an arm around Bart's shoulders, "by the time you're finished throttling that guy, you'll have missed the starting lineups and probably tip-off too."

Bart started to snarl that he didn't care, but he saw in the distance that Bruce and Oliver had appeared next to Stuart. Bart couldn't make out the few pleasant-seeming words the two men said to the assistant, but when they were finished, he saw the assistant surrender Stuart's phone back to him and allow him to leave the plane with his friends. Bart rolled his eyes at the bridal party's coordinated intervention. Lois and Dinah chuckled, telling Bart that he was welcome while they ushered him to the plane's door and ensured that he assailed the assistant with nothing more than a departing sneer.

Once the three of them were out of the jet bridge and inside the terminal, Bart jogged ahead to Stuart, who'd lagged behind Bruce and Oliver and was waiting for him. Alone with Lois as they walked through the bustling airport, Dinah took the chance to ask her whether Clark was simply pretending to be oblivious as to the events that'd transpired in the VIP suite during the flight.

"His poker face is nowhere near that good," replied Lois. "Besides, his hearing can't trigger if I'm in a soundproof room."

"That's a relief, assuming you don't think he needs to know about what went down."

"What's to know that he doesn't already? Smallville's an innocent, not an idiot. Even he's not blind to someone as close to me as Oliver resenting him."

"In fairness, Lane, you know better than only one other woman in the world that Sugar has a long history of believing what he wants to rather than what's staring him in the face."

Lois sighed, "So you're saying I should tell him?"

After a thoughtful pause, Dinah grabbed Lois's arm to halt their walk. "Frankly, I don't think it's my place to voice much of an opinion about any of this," she said, facing Lois. "Oliver gets a minority say because he's appreciated you for what you are for far longer than Clark has. But, even so, the majority lies with your family, the people who've been dedicated to you your whole life. In their case, well, most of them don't have all the facts about Clark, so their approval of him isn't exactly informed. But the couple who do really know him, Aimée and Moira, they're willing to accept him for how he treats you now and to excuse him for how he mistreated you back when. If that's enough for you, then that's enough for me."

"Still…" pressed Lois, her tone as solemn as Dinah's, "you don't think Clark should still be in my life any more than Ollie does."

Dinah didn't reply. She understood that Lois needed no corroboration to her statement. Indeed, Lois had always known where Dinah stood when it came to her and Clark. It was exactly where she'd been from the beginning and exactly where she'd be during the ceremony the next day: behind Lois.

The remainder of the two women's trek through the airport passed in silence. As they arrived outside, though, Dinah reminded Lois that her pre-marital counselor was just a call away if she needed to talk. Lois nodded in acknowledgment as Oliver and Bruce approached. The four of them then said their goodbyes for the time being. Lois charged Dinah with taking care of Oliver and Oliver charged Bruce with taking care of Lois. From there, they parted ways. Dinah took Oliver's hand, leading him down the sidewalk to hail a cab, while Bruce took Lois's arm, leading her to the pre-arranged coach bus where the rest of the bachelor partiers were waiting.

Upon Lois boarding the bus, Clark began waving her back to the seat he'd saved for her next to him. Just as Lois caught sight of him, though, she found herself suddenly wrapped in the arms of an ecstatic and unusually demonstrative Carissa Jarvis.

"I hope this means you opened your present, but I'd totally understand if you're just glad to see me," chuckled Lois, hugging Carissa back.

Putting off Clark, Lois allowed Bruce to show her to the seat beside his adoptive sibling, who could hardly express her delight in Lois's thank-you gift for co-coordinating the wedding: a copy of the screenplay adapted from Lois's bestselling memoir.

"That thing's hot off the presses, just so you know," said Lois, happy to see Carissa so pleased. "The screenwriter just got it to me this week. I haven't even read it yet."

"And you really want my notes?" asked Carissa, referring to the red ink pen Lois had included in the gift box.

"You bet your ass I want 'em. You've read the book so many times that you probably know it better than I do, so I'm pretty sure that makes you the ideal editor."

Hugging Lois yet again, Carissa gushed in gratitude. She felt silly, she admitted, being so taken with Lois's book, but she couldn't help it. The memoir chronicled Lois's entire relationship with The Blur, from her first encounter with him as the Good Samaritan to the day he debuted as the Man of Steel. Over the course of those couple years, Lois's connection with The Blur had developed even more personally than professionally, despite Lois spending almost that whole time never seeing his face and never hearing his real voice. His anonymity, which the public had always presumed he forewent with his sole press contact, had imperiled Lois more than once, resulting in her being flung from a rooftop on one occasion and run through with a sword on another occasion. Nonetheless, it was the candor with which Lois recounted such ordeals and their ramifications that appealed to the vast majority of her millions of readers.

To Carissa, though, Lois's memoir wasn't only an insight into the alien superhero whose character the world was eager to understand, it was also a meditation on forgiveness that only someone with Lois's heart could so poignantly compose. For that reason, Carissa insisted that if the writer who adapted the memoir for the screen had any sense at all, he or she would've included its final few passages verbatim in some kind of voiceover.

"That last page or so is just so beautiful," explained Carissa, sneaking a quick peek back at Clark. "The way you talk about how he'd be the first person to say he's not a god and how you'd be the first person to say he's not an angel, no man is - it humanizes him. It makes the hero he chooses to be, the mantle he chooses to uphold even more… super. Everyone who's read your book knows how much pain he caused you - not just physically. But you forgive him and you still believe in him. And, because of your book, everyone sees him the way you do. Everyone loves him."

Lois smiled in reply to Carissa's warm praises. However, she couldn't help thinking to herself, _Not everyone_.

…

The Vipers, who'd relocated from Metropolis to Edge City several years ago, had enjoyed an unexpected run. Keen management during the last offseason had landed the franchise a game-changing forward to complement its two All-Star guards, but the team's starting five was chock-full with as much youth and ego as talent and drive. The team's various parts, therefore, had been predicted to take quite some time to coalesce. However, to the astonishment of basketball analysts and spectators alike, the team had bonded sooner rather than later and had blazed its way to first place in the Western Conference, which secured the team home court advantage throughout the playoffs.

Despite besting veteran squad after veteran squad on their march to the championship series, though, the Vipers had finally come up against a seemingly invincible opponent in the Eastern Conference's Miami Heat, a team of electric, experienced players that'd been favored throughout the season to win it all in the end. The Vipers lost the first two games of the best-of-seven series to the Heat, but battled back to take the next two, and then traded victories in games five and six.

At last, everything had come down to a decisive game seven to determine 2012's NBA champions. The energy from the Vipers' arena could be seen and heard for miles as fans converged on the site. Most of the fans arrived wearing team jerseys or tees, but the more outlandish devotees had painted themselves head-to-toe with their respective team's colors. Regardless of appearance, though, nearly every fan was carrying some sort of spirit paraphernalia - thundersticks, pom-poms, rally towels, foam fingers, and the like - with which to root on their squad from the first jump ball to the final buzzer. Hardly anyone on the bachelor party's coach bus could keep their seat as they took in the sight of their fellow spectators, pointing out who amongst the crowd were most likely to draw the notice of television cameras and who amongst the crowd could've done better with the witticisms on their homemade signs.

Having entered the arena via restricted entrance, the partygoers were shown up to the VIP level and into their sports bar-themed suite. Whistles and cheers abounded as the group of sixty or so toured their digs. Outside the glass wall and glass door at the suite's front was a balcony with several rows of plush stadium seats overlooking the loud, swarming arena, while within the suite were big-screen televisions, leather couches, and billiard tables, as well as an elaborate bar attended by an arena employee and a self-serve smorgasbord offering everything from hamburgers and fries to tofu and vegetables.

While several in the crowd took out their phones to shoot video of the suite or to pose for pictures, Lois and Carissa rounded up the wedding party's various attendants and told them to consider themselves off-duty for the remainder of the day. The few twentysomethings in the group - Page, especially - asked no reiteration of the directive and promptly left to join in the excitement. Even the slightly older Ace needed no persuading to set aside her responsibilities as Carissa's personal assistant and to go enjoy herself. However, Bruce's ever-present but rarely noticed body man required some convincing, and he only allowed Lois to loosen his necktie and to stick a beer in his hand when Bruce stepped forward to confirm his release.

Carissa then returned to flirting with Clark's friend, which afforded Clark himself the opportunity to sneak up behind Lois and playfully pinch her backside. After laughing at Lois's resulting yelp of surprise, Clark circled his arms around her and hugged her to him. "You are _the_ best," he grinned, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "I can't believe I'm actually at this game. How about we slip under a pool table and you finally let me thank you the right way?"

While Bruce muttered something inaudible, though almost certainly snide, and made himself discreet, Bart brushed by Lois and Clark, barking at the latter, "Heard that! And it ain't happenin'! Starting lineups are in ten minutes and we need to get down to our seats before then. So, in case I wasn't clear the first time, you've got no longer with Lane than the time it takes me to load up a plate!"

Both Lois and Clark chuckled as Bart scurried over to the buffet. Still hugging Lois from behind, Clark began walking them towards the glass wall on the other side of the suite in order to take in the view. "So," he said to her, navigating their way around numerous partiers, "how'd the vows go?"

Lois was caught off guard. Since happening upon Oliver during the flight, she'd completely forgotten about her vows. Accordingly, she had to clear her throat and steady her voice before casually acknowledging to Clark that she'd never even gotten started on them.

"Hmm, sounds like writer's block. You know, I've heard the best cure for that is a groom's gratitude."

Lois forced a chuckle at Clark's quip. "Very funny. But, actually, Ollie was holed up in the VIP suite when I got there. We hung out. Talked."

"Oh."

"Oh…?" asked Lois, somewhat flustered by Clark's terse response.

"Well, it's just that I've never known Oliver to sit out a party. Dinah told Kara she was taking him to a hotel because he had a headache. I assumed that was code for… something else. Is he all right? He seemed fine before the plane."

Dinah's remarks about Clark back at the airport echoed in Lois's ears as she thought to herself that Clark couldn't have been more mistaken in his judgment of Oliver's disposition before the flight. To her, Oliver had been visibly upset since the luncheon. But, then, Lois knew herself to be both more aware of and more discerning about Oliver than most others. Even in reasoning away Clark's misperception, though, Lois couldn't correct it without inviting questions from him that she didn't want to answer. Thus, affecting shock, she looked over her shoulder at Clark and simply scoffed, "Are you implying that_ I_ gave Ollie his headache?"

"Well, you give me plenty of them, so…"

Even in smiling at Lois's ensuing giggles as he set to tickling her, Clark couldn't but note the lull that'd preceded her joking reply. Without doubt, there was something she didn't want to say. All the same, he was content to assume nothing significant in her evasion and to simply enjoy his last few moments with her.

Not two minutes later, Bart reappeared. In addition to collecting food, he'd dashed about with Jimmy in order to distribute the few handfuls of lower level seat tickets that Lois had provided, making sure that theirs and Clark's basketball buddies got priority. While Jimmy delivered one of the two spare tickets to Kara, Bart gave Clark a basket of wings and yet another beer. After Bart had then gathered his own provisions, he shouted across the suite to the young woman sitting with Carissa. "Hey, are you sure you're not coming? Last chance!" he impatiently told her, holding up her ticket. She waved him off and returned her attention to Carissa.

In consequence, Stuart sidled up beside Bart, saying, "Well, since she doesn't want to go, I could join y -"

"- Actually, don't worry about it," interrupted Clark, draping an arm around Bart. "You're not all that interested in the game, anyway, right? And I think Ace mentioned being a Vipers fan."

Stuck, Bart looked between Clark and Stuart. Before Bart could say anything, though, Clark was offering the last seat to Ace, who eagerly accepted, and then planting a goodbye kiss on Lois's cheek and shuffling out of the suite with Bart and the other ticket holders.

The look of apology that Bart had given Stuart as Clark steered him away was at least some consolation. With a sigh of acceptance, Stuart thus turned from the suite's exit, intending to go find a seat on the balcony, but discovered Lois standing opposite him with her arms crossed.

"Okay, I admit, it was kinda funny for the first few months. But, now, it's just getting sad," said Lois, having dragged Stuart out into the hallway with her. "Are you ever gonna stop letting Smallville Bart-block you like that? I thought that little stunt he pulled on the bus earlier would've been the last straw, but I guess I was wrong."

Shrugging, Stuart said, "He's Bart's closest friend. What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to tell him to quit being a jerk! You're dealing with Clark 'Egads! Could he be any more passive-aggressive?!' Kent here. The man set up his cousin in separate rooms from the guy whose bones he damn well knows she's been planning to jump." When Stuart only hemmed and hawed in reply, Lois spoke up over him. "Look, Samwise, this is simple: Nobody gets to Frodo without going through Merry and Pip."

Bart tried to resist snickering at Lois, but failed. "Wow, Bart couldn't have put it any better; you really are worse than any fanboy. I mean, I do get the reference, but how does it apply? I've been 'getting to' Frodo for months - or, vice versa. Depends on the mood."

Rolling her eyes, Lois tried a different approach. "Okay, what I mean is, you have to have 'the talk' with Smallville. Jimmy was in your shoes back when he started dating Chloe. Smallville totally monopolized her. Drove Jimmy insane. But, eventually, I told Olsen what I'm telling you and Smallville ended up cutting the crap. Trust me, just have the talk with him."

"Yeah… what 'talk' are you talking about?"

"You know, the one where the new guy sits down with the best bud, states his intentions, stakes his claim, and promises no harm. Smallville grew up overprotected; part of him will always believe people he cares about are safer with him than with anybody else. He likes you, granted. But even though he trusts you with his life, he won't trust you with Bart until you tell him that he can."

Sighing, Stuart returned, "But Bart's new to a lot of this. You wouldn't believe how red he turned the day I told him we'd been spending so much time together that it was starting to feel as if we were seeing each other. He avoided me for a week before he showed up at Watchtower one night and officially asked me out. It was the sweetest thing. He brought me a dozen Van Halen albums and called them 'roses.' But my point is that Oliver's who he went to for help with getting up the nerve to finally do something about us. And, to this day, I'm pretty sure Jimmy's the only other person Bart goes to on the me front. So how exactly am I supposed to talk to Bart's actual best friend about us when _Bart_ doesn't even talk to his actual best friend about us?"

"That, to my ears, sounds like yet another thing you're well within your rights to kick Smallville in the ass about. Bart tried and tried with the whole ladies' man thing for years, so Smallville assumes he's doing Bart a favor by waiting for him to open up about actually being way more of a man's man. He doesn't get that it'd be easier for Bart if he broke the ice for him."

Upon giving matters a bit more thought, Stuart ultimately nodded in agreement with Lois's insights and in acceptance of her advice. She responded with a generous smile, an encouraging punch to his shoulder, and an only somewhat hostile stipulation that he put off confronting Clark until some time after his bachelor party was over.

The two of them then returned to the suite and grabbed a couple beverages and some popcorn. Snacks secured, they headed for the suite's balcony as Stuart lightheartedly remarked, "Gotta say, confrontation is something I'm way better at in cyberspace. There's never been a hacker or a firewall that I couldn't handle. Out here in the real world, though, where brawn actually counts for something, I'm definitely not looking forward to standing up to a guy twice my size. I really am like a hobbit compared to Clark."

"Yeah, you are," laughed Lois, opening the glass door leading onto the balcony. "But, so long as you're on the right side of wrong, Smallville's not intimidating."

While Lois and Stuart made their way to the pair of seats Bruce had saved next to him, Stuart leaned into Lois, whispering, "Are you sure about that? Because I see him in his red and blue pretty often, and just judging by how he fills out those briefs…"

"Oh, that's not intimidating," smirked Lois, taking a sip of her club soda and enjoying a very warm thought. "It is _hugely_ impressive, though."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky me."


	30. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Sixteen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER SIXTEEN

* * *

"_Hola, mi compadre_!"

"_Hola_, yourself," smiled Stuart over his shoulder, both surprised and amused by Bart's greeting. "What are you so happy about? Your team's losing."

Bart, antsy with excitement, followed Lois and Stuart over to the suite's bar as the two requested refills on their drinks, saying to the latter, "But we're only down by a few baskets and our two leading scorers have combined for only seventeen. They're good for at least thirty, maybe even forty, in the second half. No way do we lose this. We're goin' home champs! I've never been this amped in my life!"

Stuart chuckled, "If you're confident, then -"

"- Screw confident. I'm not confident. I'm right," returned Bart, brusquely insinuating himself into the small space between Lois and Stuart.

Lois griped, "What the eff, Frodo? Rude much?"

"Anyway," said Bart, ignoring Lois and facing Stuart, "have you seen the restrooms on this level? They're nothing like the ones on the lower concourse. They're smaller. There's artwork in 'em. Couches and stuff too. Very swank."

"Okay. That's, uh, nice. I guess."

"Do you think they're occupied?"

Confused, Stuart replied, "I wouldn't know, but -"

"- The ones at the far end of the hall aren't. They're vacant. I checked. So, uh, I'm gonna take a leak. Halftime's just started, so I could probably wait. But it's not like I've got anything else to do…"

On that note, Bart left to stroll his way across the suite and out of it. Stuart, struggling to believe Bart making him a public overture, watched him go. In consequence of his distraction, Stuart jumped when Lois, a smirk in her voice, repeated the bartender's question as to whether he still wanted his beer. Looking between Lois and the bartender, Stuart didn't take long to answer, "I think I'll hold off, actually. That first one went straight through me. I should probably break for nature before I start on another round."

"Good idea," quipped Lois. "Need any help finding the facilities?"

"Nope. Far end of the hall, right? Later!"

Lois enjoyed a chuckle with the bartender as they watched Stuart all but sprint out of the suite. Peering through the glass wall off to her left, Lois then checked the time left on the scoreboards and decided to defer her club soda refill in order to run an errand. Halfway to the suite's exit, Bruce appeared from nearby and joined her.

"You stalking me, Wayne?" teased Lois. "I don't take kindly to that. Ask Smallville."

"I'm only following orders," returned Bruce, a smile on his face. "You did insist I remain close to you, lest I wander off to 'brood.'"

For the first time in a while, Lois was reminded of the discussion she'd intended to have with Bruce following their return to Metropolis. Taking Bruce's offered arm, she thus maintained a casual air as she asked him whether they were still on for later. He nodded, uncertain of what it was Lois wanted to discuss but, considering her timing in mentioning the topic, suspecting that it concerned Diana Prince.

Lois chatted easily with Bruce as she guided their way to the escalators leading down from the arena's restricted suite level and onto its public lower concourse, where all manner of souvenir shops, clothing booths, and food concessions abounded. As they boarded, they spotted Clark and a few of his friends riding up the adjacent escalator, likely headed back to their suite in order to mingle and nosh through halftime. Upon seeing Lois, Clark waved to her and leapt the median dividing their separate stairs. In his haste, he tripped over one of the mobile railings and fell awkwardly onto the steps conveying Lois and Bruce. Clark's companions, amongst whom were Kara and Jimmy, doubled over in laughter, reveling every bit as much as Clark in his tipsy tumble. Lois shook her head at the groom, calling down the escalator at him to ask whether he was all right. He shot two thumbs into the air, hopped to his feet, and then jogged up the stairs to her. She giggled as the kiss hello he attempted to give her missed her lips and ended up on her chin.

"Oops! My bad," chuckled Clark. "Your lack of coordination's rubbing off on me."

Lois giggled still more and gave Clark a proper kiss, for which he grinned in thanks. Following that, he asked her whether she'd run into Bart. He'd bolted off just as the second quarter's final horn sounded, said Clark. Smirking inwardly, Lois simply noted that she'd last seen the groomsman moseying off to the restrooms.

When Lois had reached the congested lower concourse with Clark and Bruce, she asked the former whether he wanted to go catch up with his buddies. Unwittingly complicating matters for Lois, Clark replied that he'd rather stay with her. Quickly enough, however, Lois devised a means of giving Clark the slip. After feigning interest in a soft frozen lemonade, she stood in line with her two companions for only a minute or so before claiming a sudden need to run to the ladies' room. As Lois expected, Clark volunteered to remain in line for her, which allowed her to depart unquestioned.

Left with Bruce, Clark nodded at him. Bruce reciprocated the gesture, and the two men proceeded to stand together without speaking. It was a comfortable silence, given their type of rapport. As allies, they were bound by the oaths they'd sworn and by the battles they'd fought. However, in the civilian realm, they diverged. Their upbringings, their lifestyles, and their temperaments were entirely dissimilar. Where one was rustic, the other was urbane. Where one was affable, the other was aloof. Nonetheless, their respect for each other ran deep, true. And, at least when it came to two women, they were wholly agreed in principle even if not in perspective. Accordingly, Clark made a passing joke about Lois's sweet tooth after he'd purchased her treat. Bruce offered only a few polite words in reply, thus signifying his disinclination for talking small with Clark, even about Lois.

While the two men then shuffled through the crowd in the direction of the restrooms they'd seen Lois duck into, Clark ventured a less idle remark. "So, uh, Diana mentioned you two talked this morning. That's the first time in more than a month, I'm pretty sure. How'd it go?"

Only with dulled faculties could Clark have failed to appreciate that asking Bruce anything personal about Diana was sure to invite verbal, perhaps also physical, hostility. But, despite Bruce refusing to acknowledge Clark's question, Clark was in far too convivial a humor to heed the warning in Bruce's non-response.

"I only ask because she didn't say much about it," persisted Clark, speaking up over the music and chatter filling the concourse. "And I know how awful I feel when Lois is upset with me, so…" Clark watched Bruce chafe, but presumed it was his comparison that bothered him. Accordingly, he explained, "I'm not saying you and Diana are like me and Lois. Every relationship is different, obviously. But just because you guys aren't 'together' together doesn't mean being on the outs doesn't hurt. And seeing as Diana's been tough on you lately, I'm sure -"

Abruptly, Bruce turned to step directly in front of Clark, cutting him short. "- Kent, my private affairs are not your concern. Therefore, do let this be the first and last time I am ever obliged to address them with you. Whatever of a personal nature was once between Diana and I is in the past. Finished. And I would thank you to never again mention the subject to me."

To Bruce's increasing anger, Clark seemed to find his words more amusing than forbidding. Failing to suppress a snicker, Clark returned, "Wow, you think you two are over? She really is doing a number on you, huh?"

"I am telling you, Kent, not even your significance to Lois will stay my hand from - "

"- Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm rooting for you. And anyway, it's not my fault you're so blinded by how much you miss Diana that you can't even read her signs any more - Okay, okay, that was over the line. I'm sorry. But, really, have you ever known Diana to do something like accept a gift from someone she's done with? Obviously, if she didn't refuse that dress - which you wouldn't have had made for her if I hadn't told you she didn't want to shop for one; you're welcome - then her mind's not made up about you two. It's just that you've started to expect stuff from her that -"

Consequences be damned, Bruce pushed Clark hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back and landing him on his backside. Every surrounding stranger halted in the midst of what they were doing and waited with bated breath in anticipation of a brawl. None was to be witnessed, though, because despite the fist Bruce was making as he loomed over Clark, Clark himself had broken out into laughter, congratulating himself for having not dropped Lois's frozen lemonade in the midst of his fall. As he got back up, he gibed Bruce for being so touchy and mused aloud that Bruce was probably just jealous of his closeness to Diana. "If that is the case, then it's exactly the problem," continued Clark. "You've got to start wanting what you do share with her, not what you don't and not what someone else does…"

Bruce had turned to quit the scene. It wouldn't do to beat on an intoxicated, to say nothing of virtually invulnerable, man. And he was already dreading the earful he was sure to receive once he told Lois that he'd struck Clark for only the slight offense of alcohol-fueled insolence. However, the sudden inflection of gravity in Clark's voice as he'd abandoned his thought prompted Bruce to turn back. Upon observing Clark, he saw in his expression that something had triggered his hearing. Bruce stepped forward to ask him what he'd heard, but Clark had begun hastening in the opposite direction of the ladies' restrooms.

"What is it?" pressed Bruce, trailing closely behind Clark, who couldn't risk vanishing at super-speed in public. "Tell me what it is."

"Lois."

After sixty long seconds of excusing and shouldering their ways through the dense crowd ambling about the concourse, Bruce and Clark came into immediate view of the quarrel unfolding in front of a memorabilia stand. Lois was standing toe-to-to with a pair of large men, shouting and pointing in their faces every bit as much as they were in hers. The stand's vendors were trying to diffuse the altercation while dozens of onlookers complained about either the men opposite Lois or the holdup with the line.

Clark was first to Lois, reaching from behind her for her arm and pulling her back. "Are you all right?" he asked over her shoulder, scarcely getting her attention as she fought against his grasp.

"I'm fine! But as for Tweedledee and Tweedledick over here -"

"- What did they do?"

"Shoved in front of that kid, knocked him over!" replied Lois, gesturing toward a gangly teenage boy off to the side. "So what if he needed another second to decide which pennant he wanted!"

Finally, Clark managed to get Lois out of reach of the two other men and to square himself to them. While one man continued shouting with and pointing at Lois, the other scoffed at Clark. "And just who the hell is this?" he said, finding the bespectacled, unassuming Clark hardly worth a thought.

Before Clark could respond, Bruce forced his way in front of him.

"He's her fiancé," glared Bruce, jaw clenched and ire up. Then, speaking over the menace still raving at Lois, he told him, "I, however, am the man who's going to break your hand if it gets anywhere near her again."

Turning his bile on Bruce while pointing past him at Lois, the man spat, "Fuck off, pal! And take that bitch with you -"

The man had hardly gotten beyond his insult to Lois when Bruce had thrust his friend aside, seized the back of his neck, and slammed his head down onto the memorabilia stand's table. Dazed, the man groped for support as he crumbled to the floor. No sooner had he begun to collapse, though, than Bruce was pinning the hand he'd put in Lois's face to the table and smashing a ceramic coffee mug down on top of it. The man howled in agony as the mug shattered into as many pieces as several of the bones in his hand. Nearly every onlooker jolted in shock from the vicious display.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, the man's friend gawked at Bruce in horror. However, contrary to his expectation of incurring similar brutality, Bruce calmly took Lois's lemonade from Clark and tossed the frozen item at him, suggesting that he apply it to his friend's battered hand.

While a number of arena security guards began calling out from afar as they struggled to wind through the crowd, Bruce reached for his wallet. Only then did he notice the blood seeping from a gash in his palm, where a shard of ceramic had cut him. Disregarding the wound, he took care to not stain his suit as he grasped his wallet and removed a black credit card from it.

Having circumvented Clark, who couldn't help smirking in satisfaction at the two men huddled on the floor, Lois accosted Bruce. Bruce, putting off Lois for just a moment, apologized to the memorabilia vendors for the disturbance and politely asked that they charge not only the mug he'd taken but also everything else in their stand to his card. After that, he requested that they distribute the merchandise to the kind patrons who'd been waiting in line, starting with the teen Lois had been defending.

The bawls coming from Bruce's victim were promptly drowned out as the crowd, even those within it who'd started to place both Bruce's and Lois's faces, began pressing toward the stand in order to make requests of the vendors. Clark, despite feeling no sympathy whatever for the pair still on the floor, did shuffle around behind them to prevent them from getting trampled. Bruce, meanwhile, stepped a stride or two away and faced Lois.

"What the hell, Bruce?" she demanded of him, grabbing his bloody hand and pressing a rally towel one of the vendors had given her to it. "Concussing the guy wasn't already way more than enough?"

Humble, though not the least bit contrite, Bruce reminded Lois, "I don't make threats."

"And do you plan on demonstrating that a third time today? God, I hope not. Because, one, if anyone's gonna assault somebody for my sake, it's me! But, for two, I'm not so unoriginal that I need to resort to violence just to shut someone up!"

"I do apologize, Lois," insisted Bruce.

"For Ollie or for Tweedledick?"

Given Lois's current displeasure with him and its certainty of very soon intensifying, Bruce could spare only a fleeting thought as to whether Clark had noted Lois's doubtlessly unintentional mention of his altercation with Oliver. Adopting a still humbler tone, Bruce thus answered Lois with, "Neither. I'm apologizing for Kent. I pushed him. Down, to be precise. I pushed him down."

At first, Lois didn't believe her ears. When Bruce's solemn expression remained unchanged, though, she turned around to look to Clark for corroboration.

"It's true," smiled Clark, glad to view Bruce's present fix with Lois as comeuppance for taunting him by spending most of the day in the suit she'd made for him. "He got mad, so he pushed me. Can you believe that? It was just a minute ago, when we thought you were in the restrooms - Hey, why weren't you in the restrooms? Why aren't you ever where I think you are? You're so unpredictable. Especially when we're together. I never really know what you want until you want it, and by then -"

Lois rolled her eyes at Clark's inevitable line of thinking. "- I was getting you a souvenir bobblehead for your desk at work."

"Really?" grinned Clark, oblivious to the near-riot at his back and the groaning man at his feet. "Do you have it? Can I see it?"

Impatient to get back to Bruce, Lois threw her purse to Clark, told him his gift was inside it, and then pressed, "Why did he push you down?"

Clark hesitated to respond.

"Why?" repeated Lois, her voice firm.

"Well, because I asked him about Diana," admitted Clark, watching Lois's eyes narrow and head cock as he said the words. "What? I was just trying to help him out. I think he thinks she's over him or past him or something, but she isn't. And maybe if he just -"

"- Oh, my _god_! Put a sock in it, Smallville! Tipsy or not, there's no excuse for you sticking your nose into whatever is or is not going on with him and Diana! Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And as for _you_," shouted Lois, whipping back around to Bruce, "I don't give two shits what nerve Smallville hit! He's frisky, silly, and chatty when he's soused! -

"She knows me so well," chortled Clark, while admiring his bobblehead.

"- But last I checked, blathering while boozy is not a goddamn crime! This is his bachelor party! So take him as he is or stay the hell away from him! Otherwise, the next person to get his ass handed to him this weekend will be you!"

In response, Bruce gave a nod of both understanding and repentance. As Lois then sighed at him and examined his injury, several security guards finally descended upon them. Given that Bruce's victim was still too muddled to explain what'd happened, his friend began giving an account to the security guards, who radioed for medical assistance. Clark nodded in confirmation of the details, which the other man, for fear of Bruce, was careful to describe as accurately as possible. In the meantime, Lois, against Bruce's objections, phoned Carissa to tell her that her big brother was going to need a lawyer and probably a couple stitches too.

Carissa ended up arriving just as the paramedics did. All business, she ignored Bruce's apologies for interrupting her date and, having dialed their criminal defense attorney and put her on speakerphone, went about assessing both the scene and Bruce's liability. From within the arena, a horn sounded, signaling the end of halftime. Carissa, seconded by Bruce, promptly turned to shoo off Lois and Clark, assuring the former especially that she had everything under control. Although young in age and petite in stature, Carissa commanded a formidable presence that left no doubt as to her competence. Lois, therefore, felt comfortable in pivoting her focus to her fiancé.

"Are you sure you don't want another lemonade?" chirped Clark, as Lois escorted him down the concourse toward the tunnel entrance for his seat section. "It's on Bruce. He'd want you to get it."

"He'd want me to get twelve," retorted Lois, referring to the hundred-dollar bill Carissa had briefly caught up with them to deliver to her, saying that it came with still more of Bruce's sincerest regrets. In any case, explained Lois to Clark, she hadn't had a taste for the treat. She'd just needed a diversion.

Content with Lois's reply, Clark accordingly took the chance to mention a puzzling point in her exchange with Bruce. "By the way, did something happen with Bruce and Oliver today?" he asked, sounding more curious than concerned. "You were talking as if maybe it had."

Lois rolled her eyes at herself. She'd bemoaned her reference to the row during the flight as soon as it'd left her mouth. Despite her hopes, though, Clark had indeed remarked her slip. Left with no alternative but lying, she thus answered Clark with a curt explanation. "They got into a scuffle on the plane. Not a big deal."

Lois felt Clark's pace beside her slow as she led him along. "Are you sure they weren't just sparring or something?" he wondered. "Because I don't think I've ever even seen them argue. Disagree, yeah. But not argue. They're family friends. They wouldn't physically fight unless -"

"- It's not a big deal, Smallville," interrupted Lois, still trying to say as little as possible about the matter. "Me and Ollie were hanging out in the VIP suite, like I told you earlier. Dinah and Bruce found us mid-convo, Ollie explained what we were talking about, and Bruce got the impression Ollie was upsetting me. So - surprise, surprise - he hit him. They wrestled for a minute. It was over before it started, really. They shook hands afterwards. Nothing bloodied, nothing broken. No harm, no foul. Not a big deal."

Clark's last few steps to the entrance into his section were slow. He knew Bruce to be short-tempered, but his explosions, however disproportionate to the offenses that sparked them, were never without sound basis. Unfortunately, the alcohol in Clark's system inhibited his reasoning. In consequence, he could only think to ask Lois, "Was he right?"

"What?"

"Was Bruce right? Was Oliver upsetting you?"

"No," insisted Lois, struggling to appear less flustered than she felt. "Not exactly, anyway. I was upset _for_ him, not _with_ him. He'd gotten emotional. We both had, to be honest. But everything's fine now. Not a big deal."

Growing leery, Clark pressed, "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Saying what?"

"That it isn't a big deal."

"Because it's not!" huffed Lois, startling Clark. "But, mostly, because I don't want my ex-boyfriend spoiling your bachelor party for you!"

Yet again, Lois regretted her words as soon as they'd passed her lips. She watched Clark's brow furrow and she knew the cause for it. She scarcely, if ever, spoke of Oliver as a former love. Clark had been so narrowly fixated on his own romantic life during the nearly two years she and Oliver had been either exclusively or nonexclusively involved that he'd never thought much of what little he'd bothered to notice of their relationship. Moreover, she and Clark hadn't begun to develop a true rapport until months after she and Oliver had severed their romantic ties in order for Oliver to pursue what he'd started to feel for Dinah. To Clark, therefore, Lois and Oliver were longtime friends who happened to have been together for a brief time early on.

As a result, that what Clark considered to be Lois and Oliver's fleeting romance should have any bearing whatever on his present circumstances caused him nothing but confusion. He wished he were sober. If he were, it'd be easier for him to string together the various strands of thought in his head: Lois and Oliver's "emotional" conversation, Bruce's assault on Oliver for upsetting Lois, Lois's evasion about Oliver just before the game, and Lois's evident discomfort with their current subject.

Lois could see Clark's frustration. Accordingly, she stepped closer to him and rested her hands on his sides. "Listen, Smallville," she told him, looking up into his glazed gaze, "this is the kind of conversation we can have any time. But your loser squad and your loser state are as close as they've ever been and probably ever will be again to an NBA crown. So how about we table this little chat, okay? And I'll clear things up for you later if you still need me to."

Clark mulled matters as best he could for several moments. In the end, the warm haze filling his head numbed his wish for understanding and inclined him toward agreeing with Lois's logic. He'd hardly begun to nod that agreement, though, when Bart suddenly appeared.

"What a shocker! I leave him with the guys, but I still end up finding him with you," said Bart, having hurried down from the suite level and come upon the bride and the groom on his way back to his seat.

Lois shot a glare at Bart. "Why is it me you always blame? Breaking news: He's his own man, dipwad."

"Is he? You two met because his ice pops stripped him to his alien core and sent him to you to babysit. He probably, like, imprinted on you or something." Giving Lois a once-over, Bart added, "Can't be any other reason for why he's so into you. Not that I can see, anyway."

"Maybe I should strip down, then. Give you a better look at the Lane charm."

"Ugh. There goes my appetite."

"Speaking of which, how's your '_compadre_'? He didn't get lost on his way to the swanky restrooms, did he?"

Bart held his ground, retorting, "More like found."

Clark started to ask Lois and Bart what they were talking about, but Bart had already begun pushing him through the tunnel and back into the wild atmosphere of the arena's interior. Lois watched him go, wishing his team an only somewhat sarcastic "_Bonne chance_." Clark, having set aside the questions in his head, replied with a smile before disappearing down the steps to his and his friends' seats.

Lois sighed. As she stood by herself in the noisy concourse, she debated whether to return to the bachelor party's suite or to the scene of Bruce's incident. With a wry chuckle, though, she couldn't help thinking that if Dinah were present, she'd kick her outside the arena and order her to get some air.

A couple minutes later, Lois had made her way out to the concrete steps in front of the arena's main entrance. The sun was below the city's skyline, gradually surrendering the heavens to the dusky hues of impending night. As Lois breathed in the warm summer air, she let her body relax and her thoughts drift.

In time, she found herself considering her unwritten vows.

"I, Lois Lane…" she murmured into the surrounding atmosphere. With a smile, she realized that she'd already gone awry. To start with, she planned to make her vows in her first language, not her second. Moreover, neither 'Lois' nor 'Lane' were her formal names. 'Lois,' at least, was a shortened version of the first name she shared with her mother. But 'Lane' was merely an assumed designation, one she and her sister had grown up using for the sake of convenience when they were in their paternal family's country.

Correcting her opening, Lois took a pen and a notepad from her purse and committed the few words to paper. "At least the hard part's done," she then joked to herself, while glancing over her scrawl. Satisfied with her start, she put away her writing materials and found herself wondering what her sister was up to. It was a Friday night, after all. Lucy and her friends were bound to be planning some kind of mischief on Samuel Lane's dime.

After digging through her purse and pushing aside her business cellular, Lois found her personal one. No sooner was it in her grasp, though, than it rang to life with an incoming call. The number on the phone's screen was unfamiliar, but Lois recognized it as likely belonging to the wedding's hotel. Odd, she thought, given that she hadn't left her personal number with anyone on staff.

Upon answering her phone, Lois was greeted in return by a child speaking in a child's version of a whisper. Lois couldn't distinguish the voice, but she assumed that it belonged to one of her impish little cousins and that he or she was either playing a prank or seeking permission for something no other adult had allowed. When Lois announced her suspicions, though, she was answered with an infectious giggle and with the declaration that she was actually speaking with the young girl she'd been texting throughout the afternoon and evening.

Smiling, Lois said to Marivella García, "It's past eight o'clock. Shouldn't you be in bed? And why are you talking so low? And how did you get this number? I gave you and your dad my business card."

Marivella giggled still more in response to Lois's interrogating and went on to say that she was whispering in order to keep from getting caught on the phone. As for why she was calling Lois's personal line, she explained that her father had Lois's business card and that her stepfather had the mobile she'd been using to text. However, the former was in the next room watching a big basketball game and the latter had left with a Mr. White to "make sure their newspaper goes to bed." Marivella, therefore, had used the phone at her bedside to call the hotel's front desk and ask for help with contacting Lois. The concierge knew the bride was away from the hotel, but he didn't have a mobile number for her. He'd therefore flipped through some wedding literature and ended up forwarding Marivella's call to the rooms belonging to the pair listed as the bride's guests of honor. A very nice and very funny-accented "Ms. Moira" had answered. And, after Marivella had introduced herself and explained things, Moira had given her Lois's personal number.

"Pretty resourceful for a seven-year-old," teased Lois.

"_I'm eight-and-a-half!_"

"Whatever you say, short stuff. Now, knowing what little I do about kids, I'm betting you're not sneaking a phone call just to shoot the shi - er, _chat_ with me. So what can I do you for?"

Without missing a beat, Marivella came right out and asked, "_Will you take me to see _Brave_ tomorrow? They're showing it in the movie theatre downstairs. My daddies are going to take me, but I think you should take me._"

"Because…?"

"_Because you like superheroes and because you like me._"

Lois laughed out loud at Marivella's straightforward reasoning. Still, she replied, "But I'm getting married tomorrow, remember?"

"_So what?_"

"So…" began Lois, before realizing that Marivella may indeed have a point. She thus proceeded to ask her what time the movie was and, upon hearing that it was being screened early in the morning, she agreed to take her. "As long as your parents say it's okay -"

Before Lois had finished her sentence, Marivella had dropped the phone and dashed into the next room to get her father's permission. The next voice Lois heard on the line belonged to Héctor García, who promptly apologized to Lois for Marivella's imposition and excused Lois from her and Marivella's plans. Lois, however, explained that there was no imposition at all, seeing as she didn't have anything to do the next morning other than attend brunch. After a few more assurances from Lois and several more pleas from Marivella, Héctor gave in. Before he could then bid Lois goodnight, Marivella asked for ten more minutes on the phone. Héctor told Marivella that she was supposed to be asleep and shouldn't have been up calling anyone in the first place, but she countered that she was only supposed to be in bed, which she had been, and that he hadn't mentioned anything about phone calls. Lois enjoyed a few chuckles while she listened to a bit more point-counterpoint between father and daughter.

As Lois predicted, Héctor soon conceded to Marivella yet again. Upon taking up the phone once more, Marivella asked Lois why she was laughing.

"Because I know my sister would've gotten a kick out of hearing that little debate," explained Lois. "Just like you, she can browbeat as well as she can smooth-talk - especially when she's dealing with our dad. I think only our godmother is immune to it, but that's because even our mom couldn't get over on her and my sister is basically our mom's Mini-Me."

"_Uh… I don't know what 'browbeat' means._"

"Doesn't matter. You've got a gift for it and I respect that. You deserve an award. Maybe a chew toy or something. Or are those only for babies and dogs?"

"_You're so silly. Is your sister funny like you?_"

"Oh, kiddo, no one's funny like me. But you can judge for yourself if you want. I was actually just about to call her and I know she'd like to talk to you. She thinks you're good luck."

Brightly, Marivella replied, "_Okay! What's her name?_"

"Lucienne Samantha de Chevalier," Lois theatrically proclaimed in her original accent. Then, reassuming her stateside voice, she quipped, "But call her 'Lucy' or she'll reach through the phone and tear your head clean off."

While Marivella laughed, Lois sat down on the concrete steps at her feet and conferenced in her sister. Lucy was at a grill with friends, watching what remained of game seven and making plans for the night, but she happily stepped out to chat with Lois and Marivella for a while.


	31. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Seventeen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

* * *

Should the Edge City Vipers have failed in their quest to become 2012's NBA champions, the wedding's party planner had arranged an alternative for the post-game festivities on the party plane. It was a tongue-in-cheek wake featuring gloomy music, grim decorations, and even a life-sized papier-mâché coffin, all meant to give the bachelor partiers a laugh and to help them mourn their team's loss. Happily, though, the Vipers were victorious, which set the planner and his assistants to preparing for the bash the former had originally intended.

Back at the Vipers' arena, the members of the home crowd were beside themselves with jubilation as they cheered on the championship trophy presentation. Throughout the various seat levels, hugs and high-fives were exchanged between familiars and strangers alike as balloons, streamers, and confetti floated down from on high. Hats and spirit paraphernalia were waved about or joyfully tossed into the air. Many fans were even in tears. It was a riotous, rapturous atmosphere that the bachelor partiers - Clark and his basketball buddies, especially - were sure to never forget.

Afterward, the elation within the arena spilled outside into the merrymaking already underway throughout the streets of Edge City. As much as the partygoers wanted to join in, they were eager to return to the familiarity of Metropolis, where the air of triumph was sure to be just as dizzying. Accordingly, they piled onto their coach bus and, while crowd control officers directed their driver through or around packed streets, they whooped and reveled amongst themselves.

Even with only the subdued orange glow of floodlights to illuminate the night, Dinah and Oliver could see the coach bus rocking off in the distance when it arrived back at Edge City International Airport and drove onto a peripheral tarmac for chartered flights. The pair had been sitting together on the party plane's steps for the last fifteen minutes or so, keeping a lookout on behalf of the party planner. Upon catching sight of the bus, they interrupted their light conversation in order to call out and alert the planner. After the planner had yelled back in thanks, Oliver ran his fingers through Dinah's fair hair one last time and untwined the fingers of his other hand from hers, allowing her to lean up from her reclined position between his legs. As Dinah rose to her feet, Oliver focused his eyes on her, taking his time in admiring the strength of her figure and the grace of her movements. "I'd wager my family's entire fortune that you've never fallen down on your own a day in your life," he mused, reaching out to stroke Dinah's skinny-jeaned legs. "In the nearly five years since we met, I've yet to witness you so much as stumble."

"One of the many benefits of being a gymnast," replied Dinah, turning to face Oliver. "Sadly, you may have forgotten some of the others these past couple weeks you've spent out of my favor, so I'll be reacquainting you with them at the first opportunity."

Oliver warmed at Dinah's remark. As she shifted still closer to him, he then told her, "You really should refer to yourself as a ballerina too."

"Why? I spent far more of my formative years walking around on my hands than I did walking around _en pointe_."

"But you still practice ballet. You still have a passion for it," said Oliver, gently massaging Dinah's calves. "You know, there's plenty of space for a dance studio in the new loft. It could adjoin the training room on the third floor or it could adjoin your suite on the second. Whichever you prefer. That way…"

"That way, I could stay in bed with you a half-hour longer instead of making the trip back to my side of town for my morning classes? You're relentless. Next, you'll be telling me about how much you toss and turn at night during the weekdays, when I'm back at my apartment."

Oliver chuckled, "To hear you talk, Birdie, someone might think you don't enjoy waking up beside me."

"Never mind 'someone,'" returned Dinah, bending down to brush her lips across Oliver's. "_You_ know perfectly well that there's nothing I don't like about sharing a bed, any bed, with you. I'm just not ready to do it on a permanent basis."

Holding Dinah's gaze, Oliver reminded her in a whisper, "I still am, though. And I'm not just talking about you moving into the loft for good instead of you staying over only on the weekends."

"I hear you, love. And I do hope my skittishness with that topic doesn't give you the impression that we're on different pages about it."

Dinah's acknowledgement brought a tender smile to Oliver's face. Returning it, Dinah withdrew from him and led him down the stairs to meet their fellow partygoers. As the coach bus came to a stop and the entire party planning crew hurried down to the tarmac, Dinah felt Oliver's long arms enfold her upper body and his lean form cuddle up to her from behind. Low in her ear, he said to her, "I suppose you won't abide hearing how grateful I am to you for taking care of me this evening?"

"You suppose right."

"Understood," replied Oliver, leaning farther down to nuzzle Dinah's cheek. "But what would I do without you?"

With a teasing lilt, Dinah retorted, "Every other five-foot-nine blonde on the planet. And they'd all only be shadows of me."

"All except one."

"Oliver, my parents are each other's favorite people. And even if that weren't the case, your only chance with my mom would still be in your dreams."

"Hmm… 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.' Are you sure there's not a jealous bone in your body, Birdie?"

Smirking, Dinah looked over her shoulder at Oliver. "I'm positive. Not that green isn't a fabulous color on me."

Recognizing Dinah's request, Oliver gladly held her closer to him and met her lips with his. Both of their eyes fell closed as Dinah sighed into Oliver's kiss, savoring his slight touches and easy cadence. Around them, the clamor of rowdy partygoers disembarking the coach bus entered the air. Dinah and Oliver were lost to one another, though - that is, until Dinah's fraternal twin suddenly came upon them.

"I can't believe you guys missed it!" exclaimed Daniel, wrapping his arms around the couple and managing to lift them both off the ground in one big bear hug. "It was tremendous! Stupendous!"

Breaking their kiss, both Dinah and Oliver laughed at Daniel, who finally set them down.

"How can you be this giddy?" asked Dinah. "You didn't even have a horse in the race."

"What difference does that make? But, I tell ya', the Guardsmen have got to win one for Gotham soon. I'll never know this feeling again until it's our home squad hoisting the trophy." Looking over Dinah's shoulder, Daniel then addressed Oliver, saying to him, "Welp, it's a bit too dark out here for me to tell whether you look rested. Knowing my sister, though, I have major doubts that you got any sleep."

"He had a headache, nimrod," snapped Dinah, kicking her brother in the leg. "I do prioritize some things over my libido."

Daniel snorted. "Since when? Anyway, man, you doin' better?"

"Much better," answered Oliver, who remained pleased, though not surprised, by Daniel's generosity in hearing him out about the cause for the scene he'd stumbled upon during the flight into Edge City. "Thanks for asking. And for understanding."

"Ah, don't mention it. Everybody should have _that_ ex. Otherwise, how are you supposed to make an informed decision later on?"

"My feelings exactly."

"Mine too," added Dinah. "Otherwise, Mr. Queen, I would've had to murder you by now."

"And I would've had to help. Brotherly love, you know."

With that, Daniel patted Oliver's shoulder, kissed Dinah's cheek, and went to see about the circulating party planning assistants, all of whom were distributing various-sized bottles of chilled champagne. Before Daniel got too far away, though, Oliver called after him and asked for a word during the flight. Daniel replied with a "You bet" and continued on his quest for a celebratory drink.

An eyebrow raised at Oliver, Dinah asked him, "What do you need to talk to Danny about?"

"The affair they've been having," joked Lois, as she and Bruce came upon Dinah and Oliver. "Really, Ollie, it's time she knew."

The members of the bridal party enjoyed a chuckle while Oliver released Dinah just enough to lean over and kiss Lois hello.

"Stop right there, pal," said Lois, pushing against Oliver's shoulder and discouraging his greeting. "Where has that mouth been?"

Dinah rolled her eyes and answered for Oliver. "Nowhere interesting. Is it so hard for everyone to believe that I let him rest? We got a room, slipped into bed, and he spent three hours napping on a pillow in my lap."

"While you did what, your nails?"

"While I watched the game, smartass."

"_After_ she'd lullabied me to sleep," interjected Oliver, who couldn't but be amused by the scowl Dinah promptly directed at him for his divulgence. "She'll deny it, but that's what happened. Gorgeous singing voice on this woman. Pity she's so secretive about her vocal cords producing lovely, far less lethal frequencies too."

While Dinah promised Oliver bodily harm, he kissed Lois's cheek and then looked to Bruce. "Broke the asshole's hand, huh?"

"Yes. However -"

"- 'However'? To hell with that. Good form."

Lois swatted away the handshake Oliver attempted to give Bruce. "Don't encourage him. I put up with too many pathologically overprotective types as it is, and that's only counting Luce. I don't need my maid of honor joining her certifiable ranks. He's lucky he didn't get himself arrested."

"All right, in Lucy's defense, you're as 'pathologically overprotective' about her as she is about you. And as for Wayne, ease up on him, Legs. He did no worse than I would have."

"You say that like you get special treatment from me."

Oliver flashed his signature smile and poked the ticklish spot on Lois's side. "Don't I, though?"

"Ugh, again with the love-fest between these two," quipped Dinah to Bruce, taking his arm. "Come with me. We shouldn't have to stomach such sickening sweetness."

After Dinah had strolled off with Bruce, leaving Lois and Oliver opposite each other amidst the energetic crowd, Oliver stepped close to Lois, saying to her, "That would be Birdie's way of giving us a moment."

"Obviously," returned Lois. Shifting her stance and taking a breath, she studied Oliver for a few beats. "Are you okay?" she ultimately asked him.

In a quiet voice, he smirked, "I'm prepared to forever hold my peace, if that's what you really want to know."

"It's not, Ollie."

"In that case… I'm as good as I'll ever be with all this. But what the hell, right? You mean the world to me, Legs. Let's get you married."

Content, Lois accepted the hug Oliver opened his arms to give her. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done on either of their parts. Oliver was free to hold on to his grievances and Lois was free to stick with her choices. Neither would begrudge the other their entirely justifiable stance. After all, whatever their differing feelings about Clark, their affection for and support of one another endured. Theirs was an unshakable bond. Its foundation was old and unconditional. Nothing else mattered.

By the time they released each other from their embrace, the crowd on the tarmac had thinned out and the majority of the partygoers were aboard the jumbo jet. The party planner had met the groom and his groomsmen the second the four of them had exited the coach bus, and he'd directly escorted them up into the party plane's lounge for the post-game celebration. Bart, however, eventually returned to the tarmac and began hustling up the stragglers, the last of whom were Lois and Oliver. After sniping with Lois all the way up the plane's stairs, Bart rushed ahead of her back into the lounge. In accordance with the party planner's vision, the lounge had been decorated and prepped for a Vipers locker room-themed bash. The space's walls, seats, card tables, and televisions had been covered with plastic tarps; absorbent mats had been rolled out onto the floor; swim goggles, scuba masks, and snorkels had been passed out - all in anticipation of the coming toast.

Upon re-joining Kara, Jimmy, and Clark in standing on a couch at the front of the lounge, Bart hollered for the plane's DJ to kill the music blaring throughout the aircraft and ordered the dozens packed into the lounge to pipe down. Having gotten everyone's attention, Bart proudly announced Clark as the bachelor party's most valuable player and awarded him with a plastic replica of the NBA Finals MVP trophy.

"Speech! Speech! Speech!" the crowd then chanted at the groom.

With a wide grin and a humorous manner, Clark acknowledged everyone who'd made his success possible. First, he thanked his coaches and his teammates - namely, his groom's party and his basketball buddies. Second, he thanked the unsung heroes laboring behind the scenes - the wedding's party planning team and all of the wedding party's attendants. Third, he thanked the fans - Lois's wild and crazy bachelorette party pals. "Last but not least," he declared in conclusion, "I'd like to thank my fiancée herself. Where is she? I never know."

Laughing, Lois waved to Clark from the corridor between the lounge and the club space. She, her maid of honor, and her bridesmaids had ducked there in order to stay out of range of the impending deluge. After catching Clark's attention, she blew him a kiss and refocused on recording video of his speech with her personal mobile.

"If it weren't for you," proclaimed Clark to Lois, holding up a large champagne bottle in her honor and lowering his snorkeling mask over his glasses, "none of this would've happened. We all would've been just any other fans watching any other TVs in any other bar. But because you're you and because you spoil me rotten, me and my friends have had the experience of a lifetime! So, here's to you, Lois! Cheers!"

On cue, the lounge exploded with peals of laughter and shouts of glee as the partygoers began shaking their bottles of champagne and spraying the fizzy contents all over the place and all over each other. Up on the couch at the front, Clark's groomsmen wrestled him onto the cushions and treated him to a champagne shower, dumping liquid everywhere they could think of: over his head, onto his shirt, even down his pants. Much, but not nearly most, of the bubbly did make it into the partiers' mouths. However, when the plane's DJ began playing Queen's "We Are the Champions," all thoughts of ingesting were temporarily forgotten as everyone grabbed a friend or two and sang along at the top of their lungs.

…

Even though an hour of flight time was more than enough, the aircraft was barely off the ground and into its climb when Lois found Page and asked him where he'd stashed her duffel bag. The personal attendant focused through his tipsy state just long enough to direct her up to the cockpit. Having gotten hold of her duffel, Lois thanked the copilot for his assurance of zero turbulence once they reached cruising altitude and then discreetly made her way back down to and through the fore areas of the plane, taking care to avoid Clark. However, no sooner had she passed the club space's stage and arrived at the VIP suite's door than a teasing voice addressed her from behind.

"And just where are you sneaking off to?"

Turning to face Oliver, Lois spoke up over the loud chatter and louder music in the air, asking him, "Is this some lame attempt at stalling me? You know exactly where I'm going and why. Take a hike."

Smirking, Oliver returned, "But I think you really should do a run through first, and I can't imagine anyone more qualified to critique it than me. My experience in this area is extensive, even excessive, which means I know quality when it straddles me. Also, I am a _superb_ tipper. Or don't you remember that?"

"You're just begging to get socked in the jaw, Queen."

"Eh, what else is new?" chuckled Oliver, catching Lois's waist as she attempted to resume her path. "C'mon, Legs, at least let me help you get the blood flowing. I've shirked my bridesmaid's duties for long enough. "

"Ollie -"

Taking Lois's purse and duffel from her and setting them just inside the VIP suite, Oliver insisted, "- Now, I've heard all about the little show you and Birdie put on during the ceremony rehearsal this morning, but even that doesn't cut it as a suitable warm up. Besides, we didn't finish our dance earlier."

"And whose fault was that?" gibed Lois, resisting only somewhat as Oliver drew her by the hand into the crowd packing the dance floor.

"Mine. All mine. And I do apologize. It's downright criminal to deprive any woman of this irresistible body and its irresistible moves."

Lois had barely begun to retort when Oliver surprised her by turning to her, twirling her full circle, and bowing her backward into a dramatic dip. She giggled as he pulled her back upright. "One dance, jackass," she stipulated, wrapping her hands around his neck as he rested his on her waist. "That's all you get."

"That's all I need."

A breathless techno mix, clouds of artificial fog, and streams of colorful lights filled the darkened club space as Lois and Oliver fell into a fun and familiar rhythm. The individuals, pairs, and groups surrounding them had migrated into the open area and onto its texturized dance floor before the plane had even taken off. Following Clark's toast in the lounge, everyone who'd participated in it had toweled off while flight attendants distributed Vipers athletic wear, some of which included tees pre-screened to commemorate the championship. Nearly all of the partiers had accepted the changes of clothes. Nonetheless, the thrill of victory and the buzz of alcohol had diminished inhibitions and heightened desires. Many of the men, therefore, had foregone shirts in order to show off their arms and torsos, and many of the women had tied up their tanks or rolled up their shorts in order to reveal their midriffs and legs. The bare skin, roaming hands, and grinding hips all around had little effect on Lois and Oliver, though. And they only occasionally interrupted their smiling conversation in order to enjoy a laugh in sneaking a peak at just how shameless some of their fellow dancers were becoming with each other.

Standing off in the corridor, Clark swallowed another sip of the beer in his hand. Lois would tear into him for skulking, he well knew. But he couldn't stop. Not long ago, Kara and Jimmy had left him to go dance and Bart had left him to go make rounds, being that he'd tasked himself with ensuring that the bachelor party was taking a sufficiently debauched turn. The small crowd remaining in the dimly lit lounge had thus consisted of a few handfuls of individuals watching postgame coverage on the televisions and a few pairs of partygoers already coupled off for the night. Even with alcohol in his system, Clark thought too little of his up-tempo dancing abilities to allow Lois's friends to drag him into the club space, so he'd opted to hang out with the television viewers. In time, though, the sounds of whispered flattery and flirtation coming from the couples entangled in corners of the couches had given way to the sounds of mingling lips and tongues. Clark had attempted to ignore them, but his own passions had soon begun to stir and he'd found himself wondering where Lois had gone.

Just before he'd reached the club space, he'd spotted Oliver guiding Lois into the middle of the dance floor. Without thinking, he'd reversed his progress through the corridor and shrunk back into it a step or two, keeping himself out of sight. The excitement and intoxication of the last couple hours had rendered his perplexing conversation with Lois prior to the basketball game's second half all but forgotten. Still, even though he couldn't quite recall the cause for his confusion, the feeling itself resurfaced the moment he saw Lois with Oliver. Somehow, there was a question in his mind and on his heart where there'd never been one before. And although it resisted taking shape, its size increased with each passing second that he spent watching the twosome at the dance floor's center.

Unlike nearly every other pair amidst the crowd, Lois and Oliver weren't pressed against one another. Still, they appeared entirely connected. Neither led, neither followed. They simply engaged and anticipated each other in a cheerful, playful manner that seemed entirely effortless. Every so often, Lois would stretch up to tell Oliver something in his ear and Oliver would be laughing before she withdrew. At other times, Oliver would grasp Lois's hips to steer her away from colliding with someone and Lois would pretend anger with him for assuming that she was bound to cause a multi-person pileup at some point. There was a comfort, an intimacy between them that left Clark feeling somehow distant, out of place. For all of him, though, he couldn't understand why.

"It's almost a pity they parted."

Clark jumped as Dinah approached his side from behind. He immediately thought to deny what he'd been doing lurking in the corridor, but given Dinah's remark and given his reaction to it, he speedily conceded to himself that there was no use. Before he could articulate some sort of explanation, however, Dinah continued on with her reflections.

"Never mind how well they get on and how in love they are, their pedigrees alone make them a natural match," she said, slipping Clark's beer out of his hand and setting it aside. "Old families, old moneys, old powers. This country hasn't gotten so close to crowning a royal couple since a Kennedy dated a Rockefeller. No wonder the society pages were as infatuated with them as the gossip rags were back when they were involved. Still… damn if they don't look as good together as ever." Dinah maintained an impenetrable expression as she observed Clark's. He'd gone still in the midst of her comments, as if he was having trouble processing her words. When several beats passed without him managing a response, she asked him, "What, did I say something wrong? Does it bother you to think of them as in love?"

Clark's insides knotted. At first, he'd assumed that he'd misheard or misinterpreted Dinah. The corridor was just shadowy enough and just noisy enough for him to have doubted that he'd seen and heard her speak in earnest. Even he couldn't make out facial features in the dark, however, so he'd used his super-hearing to filter out every sound but her voice. Nonetheless, the questions she'd gone on to ask him had confirmed his understanding of her initial statements. He hardly knew how to react, which wasn't helped by his current state of middling, though certainly not insignificant, intoxication. Accordingly, he again took too long an interval to answer.

"Does it bother you to think of them as in love?" repeated Dinah, whose demeanor was so casual that she might as well have been asking about the weather.

Reflexively, Clark peered off into the club space, where the end of one song was overlapping with the beginning of the next and Oliver seemed to be charming Lois into another dance. Jaw clenching, Clark turned his back to the dance floor and crossed his arms over his chest. "No, it doesn't bother me," he lied. "I just don't know why you're putting it as if they still are."

Dinah smirked at Clark's reply. "'Still'? As if it's possible to fall out once you've fallen in? Oh, Sugar, I do hope that's the liquor talking."

Clark shook his head in frustration with Dinah's relaxed air. Either she was entirely mistaken or she was entirely misspeaking, he was determined. "You're not making any sense, Dinah. They're _not_ in love."

"Of course they are. Haven't you noticed?"

"I can't notice what's not there!" he returned in a strained whisper, despite being unsure of whether he was defending Lois and Oliver or trying to convince Dinah and himself. "Listen, just because they dated for a little while a long time ago doesn't mean anything now. They like each other - love each other, fine. But even if they were sort of _in love_ at some point, they're not anymore. They're friends. Their feelings are platonic."

"As opposed to what, romantic? Don't tell me you think that's a relevant, never mind accurate, distinction at the moment," chuckled Dinah, prompting Clark to shift irritably. "Also, two points of order: First, your bride and my boyfriend may have been exclusive for only a matter of months, but they were involved for almost two years. That's not 'a little while' when you spend it falling as deeply as they did. Second, there's no 'even if' about their emotional history and there's no 'sort of' about being in love."

Unbeknownst to Clark, Dinah was as annoyed with his defensiveness as he was with her flippancy. Nonetheless, she was prepared to bear with him. She'd long suspected that Clark had little grasp of not only the nature but also the depths of what was between Lois and Oliver. Perhaps he'd simply never noticed, perhaps he'd simply never tried to. She didn't much care about the basis for his ignorance, though. Her sole concern was in attempting to help Lois by attempting to help Clark.

Of course, Dinah had yet to get anywhere constructive. She and Clark held very different notions when it came to personal relationships. He, for instance, seemed to be of the opinion that the type of affection one felt for a significant other could change following a separation. She would deem that view naïve, even hypocritical. To her, the heart dealt not in types of affection but in degrees of affection. Moreover, to her, the heart never forgot. It didn't matter whether one's affections were reciprocated, whether one was with or without the object of those affections, or whether being with that object was or had been more pain than pleasure. In her decided view and in her decided experience, the heart never forgot. Beyond a certain point, there was no getting over someone, only past them. Such was true for her when it came to her other great love and she had no doubt that such was also true for Clark when it came to his.

Regardless of their divergent ideals, though, it was evident to Dinah that she'd been correct about Clark's failure to appreciate Lois and Oliver's significance to one another. In fairness, she knew that anyone who wasn't paying attention could mistake the two of them as simply good friends. However, that Clark could be amongst those persons was beyond Dinah. Clark had been on familiar, although far from close, terms with both Lois and Oliver throughout the near two years of their romantic involvement and he'd witnessed several of the incidents since then that had driven one of them to tearful, violent, or life-risking extremes over the other: when Lois had been abducted, infected, or attacked or when Oliver had been poisoned, murderous, or suicidal. Furthermore, Dinah had every certainty that prior relationships had been a topic of discussion during Lois and Clark's premarital counseling sessions. Thus, in her thinking, there was no excuse for Clark's loss as to what Lois and Oliver had shared and continued to share.

All the same, Dinah wasn't of a mind to take issue with Clark where it wasn't her place to do so. She'd approached him for the sole purpose of helping him with what he'd barely begun to understand, never mind accept. Alas, her direct approach with Clark hadn't suited. She was dealing with a romantic - an inebriated and comparatively inexperienced romantic at that. Against her nature, therefore, she was obliged to take a subtler, more circuitous tack.

Reaching out to uncross Clark's arms, Dinah thus mused, "You know, Sugar, if my very shrewd and very eloquent mother were here, she'd observe that 'sense is distinct from sensibility is distinct from sensation.' Which is just a PhD's way of saying that reason, emotion, and desire couldn't care less about one another. Obviously, of those three, it's emotion and desire that I most respect. There's nothing deluded or dishonest about the feelings we feel and the wants we want. They answer only to themselves and they don't care whether we admit them, or like them, or pursue them… or phrase them in ways that help us sleep at night. All the rationalizing and categorizing goes on in our heads - all the bullshitting too. But our hearts and our hungers? They never lie. Not to themselves and not to others. -"

Somewhere deep within Dinah's ruminations, Clark could sense an admonition. It rendered him a bit embarrassed of himself. Dinah had never been one to mock or provoke him, even during the year she'd spent at odds with him and his former best friend. And yet, he'd taken exception to her prior remarks without hearing her out. Regretful, he thus allowed her to wrap one of his arms around her shoulders and to lean her side into his as she went on.

"- Like our ids, I don't give a damn about semantics. Like, love, lust; platonic, romantic, erotic - they're only words. They hold different meanings and different values to different people. For me, what matters isn't what someone feels, but how strongly they feel it. So, when I look at _them_," said Dinah, turning herself and Clark back to the club space, where Lois and Oliver were still dancing and laughing away, "I don't see friends, partners, or lovers. What I see is how profoundly and how faithfully they care for each other… What I see is that Oliver feels as strongly about Lois as he feels about me."

Clark's brow knitted as he thought for a moment. He couldn't but notice that Dinah had spoken for Oliver's regard for Lois but not for Lois's regard for Oliver. A small part of him wanted to know why; a large part of him didn't. Nevertheless, with the assistance of a recent beer, the former prevailed. "And as for Lois?" asked Clark, turning his head to look down at Dinah's profile.

With a sigh, Dinah maintained her forward gaze as she replied, "As my dad would warn, 'Never ask a question that you don't want answered.'"

"What does that mean?"

"…Exactly what you think it does."

Clark understood.

A number of passersby ambled through the corridor while Clark spent the next minute or two working through his thoughts. When he and Dinah were once again alone, he broke the silence between them by putting to Dinah the question she'd previously put to him. "Does it bother _you_ to think of them as 'in love'?"

Dinah smiled, "You don't have to word it my way, Sugar. You don't have to see it my way, either."

"I know that. Still, does it bother you to think of them the way you do?"

"Not in the least. It'd only bother me if they tried to hide it. Hiding it would imply guilt, which would imply wrongdoing, which would imply infidelity - the emotional kind, I mean. As it is, though, had Oliver never fallen for someone as deeply as he fell for Lois, had he never invested himself in someone as completely as he invested himself in her, I never would've trusted enough in his emotional capacity to chance a relationship with him. But, to this day, how he feels for her assures me of how he feels for me."

Cautiously, as if expecting to offend her, Clark pressed, "But you're 'the one.' That's what I hear Oliver tell people about you. How can you stand alone, though, if he sees someone else the same way he sees you?"

Dinah resisted rolling her eyes as she was reminded of precisely why she'd never had any interest in Clark beyond his physique. Summoning the patience she knew her mother would counsel and Lois would command, she met Clark's eye as she gently explained to him, "'The one' doesn't mean 'the only' - at least it shouldn't, not if you've lived a full and healthy romantic life. 'The one' should mean the person best suited for us, the person we choose above all others, especially the exceptionals. For Oliver, 'exceptional' is defined by Lois Lane; for me, a wonderful guy named Craig Windrow. Oliver may feel as strongly about Lois as he feels about me - in my opinion, he does - but that doesn't mean he sees her how he sees me. I'm the woman he wants to marry; I'm the woman he wants a life with… He loves her. He chooses me."

Clark inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He wasn't sure of whether he shared Dinah's perspective, let alone her comfort with it. But, as always, her views were reasonable and thoughtful. Moreover, she'd clearly intended to help him by giving not only shape but also resolution to the question that'd been begun expanding in his head and in his chest. For that, he was grateful. Rubbing her shoulder and squeezing him to her, he thus managed a smile as he said, "I guess I didn't think of things that way."

"You're welcome," returned Dinah, stretching up onto her toes in order to kiss his cheek. "To be honest, though, there is one thing that does bother me."

"And that is…?"

"That in all these years, me and you have yet to give it a try." Even in the shadowy corridor, Dinah was certain that she saw a blush accompany the chuckle she drew from Clark. Giving him a teasing nudge, she persisted, "What, do have something against blondes?"

"No! No, no, no. Of course not. As a matter of fact, I had a girlfriend in high school who was blonde. She was… intense. But sweet."

Stepping around to face Clark, Dinah grasped his sides as she purred, "Then why haven't I been able to entice you, Sugar?"

"Well, uh… One, you've never tried," answered Clark, who was too buzzed and too zeroed in on Dinah's voice to more than marginally perceive the change in his setting and its volume as she drew him forward. "Two, I'm not your type. And, three, you scare me."

"So does Lane."

"Yeah, but not in the way you do - and I mean that as a compliment."

"I wouldn't have taken it any other way."

Suddenly, a few warm bodies brushed or bumped against Clark, startling him into returning his hearing to its standard perception and into taking stock of his surroundings. He was on the dance floor in the club space, surrounded by sweaty partiers and heady music. Flustered, he began to retreat, telling Dinah, "Um, this isn't quite my pace -"

It was too late. Several of Lois's friends had spotted Clark and joined him and Dinah. He tried to escape them, but their energy was catching and their flattery encouraging. Soon enough, therefore, they got him moving - just slightly and only with their lead at first, but more freely and of his own accord after a couple verses. From several clusters of dancers over, Lois watched and smiled.


	32. Part Two (Lovers), Chapter Eighteen

PART TWO (LOVERS), CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

* * *

One dance had become three. Toward the end of the third, the party plane's captain announced to the passengers via intercom that they'd reached cruising altitude, which prompted Lois to insist to Oliver that she really couldn't spare much more time. Elsewhere in the crowded and clamorous club space, Bart was seated by himself on a cushioned bench running along the starboard side and was becoming increasingly annoyed by the scene unfolding behind the DJ booth in an opposite corner. However, just as he shifted a tad to improve his view, Dinah appeared in front of him and wholly obstructed it.

"WTF, Lance?" complained Bart. "Move your ass."

Smoothly, Dinah stepped between Bart's knees and perched herself on one of his thighs. "Sulking is incredibly unattractive, Bartholomew."

"Then why are you still trying to seduce me?" he absently retorted, craning his neck to see around her. The crowd immediately before him and throughout the area was dense, but it did occasionally part just enough to allow him glimpses of the DJ booth. "I'm a babe magnet, I get it. But for the billionth time, blondie, I ain't interested."

Smirking, Dinah pressed a finger to Bart's chin and drew his gaze to hers. "Maybe I'll have a go at Stuart, then. Would you mind?"

Bart didn't say anything in reply. He only glared at an all the more amused Dinah.

Out on the dance floor, one song gave way to another as Oliver spun Lois around one last time. She giggled as he pulled her back to him for a quick hug. "All right," he said to her upon withdrawing, "your blood's moving and your mood's right. I'm on a roll. Kicking ass at this bridesmaid thing. What else can I do?"

Smiling at Oliver's eagerness, Lois instructed, "Send me Lance. It'll take me half as long with her. Oh, and go do something about _that_."

Peering off in the direction Lois was pointing, Oliver observed the DJ booth. In it, Stuart was picking the DJ's brain about her laptop's mixing software as Stuart's admirer - the handsome, happy-go-lucky party planning assistant - stood by, posing the occasional question to the DJ and offering the occasional compliment to Stuart. A song or two ago, the assistant had surprised Stuart with a frozen "bananarita," a tequila-based cocktail that the lounge's bartender had mixed up at his request. Stuart had never even heard of the drink before, which the assistant had hoped would be the case. Thus, given that he considered the assistant's gesture fairly harmless, Stuart had accepted both it and the assistant's company while he and the DJ continued to exchange thoughts.

Watching the assistant sidle up still closer to Stuart, Oliver snorted, "Can't knock the guy for persistence. I do hope Bart's still busy making rounds, though. If he were seeing what I'm seeing, he'd be pissed."

Lois turned Oliver toward the bench on the other side of the space. "He is and he is. Which is probably why Lance is sitting on him."

"Ah, maybe she's just trying to seduce him. Most men are too easy; it's hard for her to find a challenge. Either way, I vote we let Bart trounce the punk. Maybe a little public aggression will get his other foot out of the closet."

"There's already been enough violence at this bachelor party. Now, go work your magic. Just don't take forever; you can't be in here when I get back."

"Oh, don't do that to me, Legs," pouted Oliver, looking back at Lois. "Everyone else gets to stay."

"You're _not_ everyone else, jerk. But, for the record, if AC were here, I'd kick him out too."

Leaning down to dot his lips to Lois's cheek, Oliver grinned, "Sorry, I couldn't hear anything after 'you're _not_ everyone else, you sexy beast' - Ow!"

Before Oliver could offer Lois his usual parting affection, she'd smirkingly caught him off guard with a solid punch to the same spot on his stomach where Bruce had kneed him earlier. The blow doubled over Oliver in only slightly more laughter than pain, which had been Lois's intent. Leaving Oliver with a ruffle of his hair and a reminder of her instructions, Lois checked to ensure Clark's attention was still occupied by his handful of dancing partners and then slipped away toward the VIP suite.

After righting himself, Oliver began roving through the crowd. As he passed by the giddy, tipsy twosome of Kara and Jimmy, who looked as if they couldn't be having any better a time, they smiled at him in greeting and asked him where he was headed. Oliver paused and briefly explained, occasioning Kara and Jimmy to offer him their help. He declined, telling them he could handle things and encouraging them to keep enjoying themselves, but they nonetheless decided to abandon their dance and follow him to the starboard bench.

Dinah and Bart were still in the midst of their standoff when Kara, Jimmy, and Oliver came upon them.

"And just what's going on here?" joked Oliver, bending down to press a kiss to Dinah's lips. "I thought you preferred abstinence to men under six feet tall."

"Desperate times, desperate measures. Bartholomew's been sulking."

"I'm not sulking," protested Bart, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm supervising."

Kara and Jimmy chortled as they plopped down on either side of Bart and threw one arm each around him.

"Really, Bart, just say the word and James and I will lock your would-be rival in a restroom," offered Kara, both in jest and in earnest. "And, if you like, we'll lock you and Stuart in the next one over."

"I don't know, Kara. I think they got that out of their systems during halftime. Ba-dum-chh!" laughed Jimmy, holding up a fist for Kara to bump.

While Bart huffed a petulant breath and Jimmy explained to a puzzled Kara the meaning of a fist-bump, Oliver told Dinah she was needed backstage and helped her up off of Bart's lap. However, before taking her leave, Dinah whispered something in Oliver's ear that tempted him to abandon his charge with Bart and to pin her against the nearest flat surface - the nearest one out of her brother's sight, of course. After a trying moment, though, Oliver was forced to groan his reluctant resistance of her proposition.

Dinah chuckled at him and nipped his earlobe. "Maybe later?"

"Oh, count on it," returned Oliver, trailing his eyes over Dinah's backside as she wished Kara, Jimmy, and himself good luck with Bart and sashayed off to the VIP suite. Once she'd disappeared, Oliver shook his fantasy from his head and turned to focus on Bart, who was already glowering at him for whatever he planned to say. "Frankly, guy," began Oliver, speaking just loudly enough for Bart to hear him over the club music, "you're shit out of luck; clobbering anybody for any reason, even if they have it coming, has been banned by the bride for the remainder of this bachelor party. So, at present, you've got only two options: Either _you_ ask Stuart to dance or you let _me_ ask Stuart to dance. Square?"

Merrily, Kara and Jimmy chimed in with their suggestions as to whether Bart should choose option one or option two. In a miff, Bart got up to storm off. Before he'd made it a full stride, though, Oliver grabbed the front of his shirt and easily pushed his smaller, buzzed body back down between his fellow groomsmen.

"Now," continued Oliver, his tone still light, "you're not quite there with the PDA and I do understand that. Fortunately, so does Stuart. He's a patient guy and he's completely into you - which just goes to show that there really is no accounting for taste. I kid, I kid. Seriously, though, how's about granting me your permission to rescue your '_compadre_' from his groupie?"

Bart crossed his arms again and ground his teeth, trying to appear less grateful than he was for Oliver's proposed favor. Soon enough, however, he eased his scowl and gave a grudging nod.

Coming from Bart, Oliver knew that slight acknowledgement to be equivalent to a hearty "please" and "thank you." Satisfied, he thus delivered a good-humored punch to Bart's shoulder and turned to go. "Oh, I forgot to warn you," he smirked back at him as he went, "I get a little grope-y with good-looking guys."

A chuckle escaped Bart before he could even think to muffle it. Glad to see him loosening back up a bit, Kara and Jimmy hopped to their feet and tugged him up to join them. From their improved vantage, the three of them watched Oliver wind through the crowd and finally arrive at the DJ booth. By then, the party planning assistant appeared to have grown confident enough to begin hinting to Stuart about a dance. After interrupting the assistant with what the groomsmen were confident was some wisecrack or other, Oliver made a show of holding out one hand to Stuart and gesturing toward the dance floor with the other. A look of relief appeared on Stuart's face as he readily accepted and, having thanked the DJ for the conversation and the assistant for the drink, followed Oliver. The assistant sighed over having been thwarted yet again. Like the two prior times, though, he quickly recovered his spirits and returned to his tasks.

The groomsmen watched Stuart and Oliver bop and groove for a minute or so before Kara asked a quiet Bart if he'd like to take a turn with her and Jimmy. Bart, although in a less grumpy mood than before, flatly refused. He envied Oliver the position he was currently in and, for the time being, he was content to languish in the inhibitions that kept him from walking over and cutting in. Behind his back, Kara and Jimmy exchanged a few looks and hand signals. Ultimately, they agreed that Jimmy should make the next attempt at cheering up Bart, given that Jimmy was second only to Oliver as Bart's confidant on the subject of his romantic life.

Having decided on an approach, Jimmy nudged Bart and told him, "You know, Colin's been asking me about Stuart."

Bart shifted his weight and rolled his eyes at the mention of Jimmy's coworker and their mutual basketball buddy. "Thought he had a boyfriend," he grumbled.

Happy to have provoked a response, Jimmy replied, "He does, but they're trying the 'monogam_ish_' thing. So, heads up, Stuart's getting pretty popular at this wedding. You may have to make some sort of announcement soon. Mark your territory."

Bart muttered something.

"Come again," pressed Jimmy.

"He said, 'He's not territory,'" answered Kara, whose super-hearing allowed her to perfectly perceive Bart's remark. Hugging the shorter man, she beamed, "Aww, Bart! How gallant!"

Jimmy chuckled, but he knew Kara's enthusiasm wasn't helping. Upon convincing her to release Bart, who at least seemed more embarrassed than exasperated, Jimmy apologized to Bart for his phrasing and then assured him that he had nothing to worry about with Colin. "I told him to bark up a different tree. Maybe that guy Doug's."

A smirk appeared in a far corner of Bart's mouth. "Doug? The meathead at the welcome mixer yesterday? The one Stretch played football with in high school? _That_ Doug?"

"Duh, _that_ Doug. Bro, why do I have a better eye for this than you do?"

"Maybe you should be asking yourself that question. Just sayin'."

Jimmy laughed and pulled Bart into a headlock. Bart retaliated, wrestling about with him for a few moments before they mutually relented.

At last, a genuine smile had appeared on Bart's face. "C'mon," he told Kara and Jimmy, throwing one arm around each of them. "Someone's gotta teach you losers how to move."

Out on the dance floor, the three groomsmen rocked and raved along with the rest of the crowd to the pulsating cords of the DJ's latest mix. Soon, they found themselves joined by Stuart and Oliver, the latter of whom traded congratulations with Kara and Jimmy for their success with Bart. As the five of them proceeded to play off of and joke with one another, Bart availed himself of both liquid courage and group circumstances and began inching closer to Stuart. Half a song later, he'd drawn to within an arm's length of him, with only a feignedly oblivious Jimmy swinging and swaying between them. Seeing that Bart had come as far as he dared, Stuart gave him an indulgent smile and tipped his drink at him in salute.

"You're kidding me, right?" returned Bart, gesturing toward the half-empty highball glass in Stuart's grasp. "Because I am _this_ close to pulling a Wayne and breaking that dick's hand with that cup."

"Oh, come off it. He's nice, he's cute, and he's just flirting. It's not like he's tried to grab my ass or something. -"

"_I_ definitely did, though," interjected Oliver, leaning over to give Bart a lighthearted shove. "Not apologizing."

While Bart cut his eyes at Oliver, Stuart continued, "- And, anyway, this drink is awesome. It's called a 'bananarita,' which is sort of obvious and stupid. All I care about, though, is that it's got tequila in it. Want some?"

Bart considered refusing but decided otherwise. "Actually, yeah, give it," he said, reaching around Jimmy and taking the glass. His intention was to spite Stuart's admirer by downing what remained of the slushy concoction. Alas, the moment the drink hit his palate, he gagged in disgust and sputtered out his initial gulp. "Blech! What in the hell?! This thing's fruitier than you!"

"Well, you'd know," snickered Stuart, drawing a smile from Bart as he maneuvered around Jimmy in order to retrieve his drink and to help Bart wipe off his mouth and chin.

When they'd finished cleaning him up, Bart, never one to vocalize thanks, instinctively leaned forward to offer Stuart his gratitude. Stuart's expression of disbelief made him catch himself, though, and he recoiled without having accomplished his aim. Yet, as Bart stood amidst the dozens dancing on around him and Stuart, he grew too frustrated with his reserve to tolerate yet another instance of it and he resolved to force himself out of his own way. Promptly stretching up onto the tips of his toes, he scanned the club space for the groom. Indeed, the long-time-coming conversation between Bart and Clark was so far past due that not even alcohol and aggravation could embolden Bart enough to follow his instincts with Clark watching.

Stuart intuited Bart's line of thinking. "It's okay," he only somewhat teased, pointing out the back of Clark's head several people away. "He's not looking -"

Stuart's final word was muffled against Bart's mouth as the other man grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into an unexpectedly sound kiss. Stuart barely moved; he didn't want to unnerve Bart by reciprocating too much. For the sake of both diversion and curiosity, he thus timed the duration of Bart's public display. After nine impressive seconds, Bart let him go and stepped back. Stuart bit his lips to keep himself from grinning while Bart, his heart pounding against his ribcage, cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. At last, Stuart couldn't hold back any longer and he let the edges of his mouth curl up toward his eyes.

Bart huffed and blushed.

"I'm sorry," insisted Stuart, failing miserably at suppressing a round of giggles. "Really, I'm sorry. Don't be mad. Are you mad?"

"No," muttered Bart. "I just hope you got something out of that, because I'm never doing it again."

"Why? It was lovely!"

Bart and Stuart immediately turned to Kara upon hearing her exclamation. At some point, apparently, she and their two other dance partners had given up pretending to ignore their exchange.

"She says lovely, but I say hot," quipped Jimmy.

"Agreed," seconded Oliver. "I could definitely use a cold shower. Come to think of it, the stall in the VIP suite's bathroom probably fits at least three, so if you two gentlemen would like to join me…"

Caught between amusement and annoyance, Bart remarked, "I hate every single one of you."

"Except for me, right?" edged Stuart, a wink in his eye.

"Not so long as you've got that waste of tequila in your hand. And, just so you know, I may still pound the shit out of your stalker."

"Wow, Babe, there were so many better ways to word that."

Groaning, Bart dropped his brow into his hands in preparation for the others' inevitable reactions to hearing Stuart's slip.

"He calls you 'Babe'?" grinned Kara. "Humans are so quaint with their endearments! Granted, such sentiments insult intellect and exploit emotion, but at least they've a humor about them that, say, the myriad slurs degrading your languages lack. Do you call him something, too? Dove or doll, perhaps?"

Feeling it their duty, Jimmy and Oliver promptly set to mocking Bart with both verbal and physical jabs. Kara and Stuart watched and laughed. Before long, though, the onslaught ended and the dancing resumed. Of course, just before the five of them found the beat once more, Bart did manage to at least feign anger by cocking his head and pursing his lips at Stuart.

In response, Stuart simply smiled and shrugged, saying, "Blame it on the booze. Babe."

…

Having received the signal she'd been awaiting, the club space's DJ picked up the microphone in front of her. Toward the end of yet another techno mix, she began addressing the crowd over the speakers throughout the room, asking everyone whether they were having a good time and telling everyone who was feeling sexy to make some noise. After the roar of responses died down, she announced to the crowd that there was something very special in store for them: an exclusive performance by a surprise guest. The crowd gave a cheer of anticipation as the DJ directed them toward the small stage at the rear of the room.

All at once, the colorful lasers and strobe lights throughout the space cut out and the spotlights above the stage came up, illuminating the meter-high area and the floor-to-ceiling pole at its center. Of the dozens of partiers already filling the club space and the handfuls hurrying in from the lounge, Clark was the only person discomposed by the prospect of the impending spectacle. In fact, the chief stipulation he'd made to Bart and Jimmy about his original bachelor party was that he'd wanted absolutely nothing to do with scantily clad strangers. Accordingly, while the other partiers pressed forward for a better view of the stage, Clark began sneaking backward off the dance floor and toward the corridor leading to the lounge.

"Nice try," laughed Dinah, turning up next to Clark and catching his arm, "but the only place you're going is front row, center."

"Dinah, seriously, this isn't my sort of thing. Ask Lois." Peering about, Clark attempted to locate his fiancée, but he found her absent from plain sight. Flustered, he very nearly resorted to using his abilities to track her down; however, she'd long ago forbidden him from doing so if a situation wasn't dire - which, at least by her definition, was the case with his current predicament. "Great, just great," he groused, still looking out over the crowd in hopes that Lois would appear. "Where'd she go this time?"

"Give it up, Sugar. You've been asking that question for years and you've yet to get an answer to it."

Growing desperate, Clark returned, "Just the same, if she were here, she'd tell you -"

"- If she were here, she'd tell _you_ to suck it up; this is a rite of passage for even the most modest grooms. And, after all, what's a bachelor party without a live show? You have her full support. Trust me."

Clark started to object more firmly, but all three of his groomsmen suddenly emerged and began assisting Dinah in escorting him through the crowd, which parted as those within it rooted the groom on toward an empty spot just before the stage. Over the speakers, the DJ asked the crowd whether the "bachelor of honor" was situated, to which everyone responded with energetic affirmatives. At that, the DJ began introducing the surprise guest.

"Ladies and gentleman, your entertainer for tonight may prefer being _with_ the band to being _in_ the band, but she's far more than a front man's arm candy. She's a rock god in her own right! During the height of her 1980s fame, she graced the covers and screens of too many albums and music videos to number, most famously strutting her gorgeous stuff atop the hoods of two Jaguars to the tunes of Whitesnake's chart-topping anthem 'Here I Go Again.' To be sure, she's known some troubles in recent years, but she's turned back the hands of time to appear to us tonight exactly as she did in her mid-twenties prime. Here to perform to the record that shot her to celebrity stardom and rock-and-roll glory, I give you the one, the only… Tawny Kitaen!"

The crowd erupted with cheers as the VIP suite's door, which was just to the right of the stage, opened and "Tawny" appeared. In the midst of the DJ's introduction, several of the partiers had begun to catch on to the surprise, but it wasn't until "Tawny" made her entrance that everyone except for Clark, who'd lowered his head and covered his eyes in mortification, understood. Laughing at him, Dinah enlisted Kara's help with prying apart his fingers. Finally, Clark gave in and took a quick peek. Upon seeing the impersonator, he was overcome with first relief and then amusement as she took the stage.

All smiles and swagger, "Tawny" spun around for everybody, especially the groom, to see. Her hair and makeup boasted '80s-inspired glam with modern editing: her long, wavy locks were tousled but not teased, and her features were embellished with a bright red mouth, sculpted cheeks, and bold but neutral-toned eyes. Just as she had been in the music video that made her and her then-boyfriend's band legends, she was dressed in a white, robe-like negligee that flowed down over her arms and legs and was cinched about her waist. Unlike in the music video, however, her feet were set in a drastically high pair of clear platform heels.

Applauding with the others, Clark tilted his head down to ask Dinah, "Is this her handholding me through my 'rite of passage'?"

"She figured you wouldn't survive it without her. And you'd better enjoy this, because I'm the one she forced to take lessons with her while you and your best man were pre-honeymooning last month. Happily for me, though, I won't have to put my new skills to use; Mr. Queen doesn't blush around half-dressed women who aren't me."

Clark's bright expression suddenly dimmed a bit and, without thinking, he glanced off into the animated crowd.

"He's in the lounge," said Dinah, answering the question in Clark's mind before it'd even formed. "Now, here, take this," she continued, handing him a stack of crisp bills. "I'm instructed to tell you that it's from your party's petty cash fund and that you're not to give me any grief about accepting it."

Clark was grateful for Dinah's kindness in dispelling but not dwelling on his reflexive qualm. More than that, though, he was grateful for Dinah's assurance of Oliver's absence. The mere mention of Oliver had ruffled him. He didn't know why. But, then, perhaps he did on some level. Either way, between the mid-game conversation with Lois that he couldn't quite recall and the mid-flight conversation with Dinah that he couldn't quite forget, he sensed he was verging on something of a revelation. As had been the case throughout the late evening and into the night, though, there was enough alcohol in him and diversion around him to quell his burgeoning understanding and its attendant concerns. For that reason, he dismissed the moment's thought he'd given Oliver and he chuckled as he looked to Dinah in question about the money in his grasp.

Dinah, who was distributing to the other partiers in the front row the rest of the bills she'd collected from Lois's duffel bag, smirked at Clark. "Oh, don't pretend you're confused about what to do with that. I have it on good authority that you've slipped a twenty into a bedazzled brassiere at least once in your mild-mannered life."

"Actually, the woman wearing the brassiere did that for me."

"First time for everything, then."

Dinah and Clark shared a quick smile while "Tawny" assumed her initial pose for her number. Taking the visual cue, the crowd gave their entertainer a few more shouts of delight and encouragement before settling down and readying for the show.

The opening to "Here I Go Again" was subdued, featuring little more than stylized notes from an electronic keyboard and sober lyrics crooned by only the lead singer. In keeping with the first verse's mood, "Tawny" began with a series of slow, elegant moves similar to those she'd once displayed in Whitesnake's legendary music video. Arching, twirling, and extending, she showcased her long lines and flexibility as her negligee's light fabric breezed through the air and along her skin. At one point, she performed a front walkover, stepping into a handstand and continuing forward back onto her heels, before sinking down into a front split. A number of admiring whistles echoed throughout the crowd. The loudest of them came from Dinah, who'd helped with that particular bit of choreography. As the first verse came to a close, though, "Tawny" locked eyes with the bachelor of honor as she untied and stripped off her negligee, revealing a studded white tank top and a pair of acid-washed denim shorts.

Clark, as much a fan of the outfit as of its owner, grinned in approval.

Just like that, the low-key atmosphere on the stage and throughout the club space gave way to noise and excitement when an up-tempo chorus came in, bringing with it hard-rocking guitars and drums, and several of the lights on the stage began flashing and swirling. "And here I go again on my own!" belted out many of the partiers, singing along with the popular lyrics. "Goin' down the only road I've ever known…"

Tossing her hair and swaying her hips, "Tawny" took hold of the pole centered on the stage and went into the most anticipated part of her routine. Clark, despite knowing his wasn't an expert opinion, couldn't help thinking she was a natural. Her moves were smooth and assured, seeming almost effortless in spite of the strength and training they demanded. More than that, though, she simply exuded fun and energy, rolling about on the floor and swinging about on the pole in a manner that was more playful than provocative - which, not incidentally, drove Clark's prior fears of being scandalized far from his mind.

"Had me and Bart known she was for hire," chortled Jimmy, elbowing Clark as they watched "Tawny" scale the pole, "we would've booked her for last night!"

Leaning over to stick a fresh beer in Clark's free hand, Bart retorted to Jimmy, "I wouldn't go that far. Amateurs are hit-and-miss."

Kara chirped, "In any case, she looks terrific up there."

Clark, awing at the upside-down pose "Tawny" struck at the top of the pole, interjected with, "I think 'terrific' may be selling her short, Kara. She looks unreal."

"Dude, whatever, you're hella biased," gibed Bart, slapping Clark on the back. "I'll give her this, though, at least she knows how to get you to party!"

Clark laughed as he and his groomsmen returned their full attention to the stage.

After spinning down the pole in her inverted position and flipping backward to land upright on her heels, "Tawny" danced her way forward to engage the crowd during the guitar-heavy interlude after the second chorus. Those who hadn't already thrown their bills out onto the stage reached up to slip them under the thin, lacy garter fastened around her left thigh. Clark watched and smiled as she passed by along the front row, blowing kisses and grasping outstretched hands like the star she was. When she arrived back in front of him, though, she crossed her arms and regarded him with a smirk. Confused, he looked back at her in question. She responded by very sweetly glancing at the cash still in his hand.

"Oh, right!" chuckled Clark, realizing that he'd yet to tip the impersonator. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Are you new at this?"

Sliding his entire stack of bills underneath the woman's garter, Clark told her, "I am."

"Well, cutie, that makes one of us," she winked, leaning down to press her rouged lips to his cheek. "Thanks for the tip!"

"My pleasure, Sweetheart."

Any other time, "Tawny" would've taken exception to being addressed by such an endearment in a public setting. For the sake of the groom's occasion, though, she simply shook her head at him and returned to her routine.

The crowd's liveliness reached fever pitch as "Tawny" rocked out to the last few repetitions of the song's chorus. She'd saved her best stunts for last. Given that they were also her most daring ones, they couldn't but concern Clark as much as they impressed him. Fortunately, though, the exclamation point she put on her number - spiraling down from the ceiling in a horizontal, laid-out pose with only her inner thighs gripping the pole - ended without the airplane experiencing turbulence and without her experiencing a fall. Beaming, Clark joined the other partiers in paying their praises and thanks to their surprise performer by saluting her with a thunderous ovation.

The whooping and whistling was still carrying on after "Tawny" had taken her final bow. Having begun playing another classic rock song, the DJ turned down its volume to more of a background level as she picked up her microphone once more and directed the groom to hop on the stage with the bride. A quizzical look immediately befell Clark's features. Before he could ask anyone a question, though, the DJ pronounced, "It is time, guys and gals, for the ceremonial garter toss!"

As the partiers rooted in anticipation, Clark looked up at Lois in disbelief. "I thought this and throwing a bouquet were at the top of your 'Nope! No way! Not at this wedding!' list."

"Actually, they're somewhere around the middle," retorted Lois, lugging Clark up onto the stage while Dinah retrieved an armless folding chair from off to its side. "But just because Google, Wiki, and common-freakin'-sense tell me most wedding traditions are crazy sexist doesn't mean I can't compromise on some of the crap I know you grew up fantasizing about. I did agree to walk down the aisle second, didn't I? So, Mr. Old School, get to work!"

Too thrilled for words, Clark simply grinned.

Soon enough, Lois was seated in the chair Dinah had placed at the middle of the stage, and the crowd's suggestion of Joe Crocker's bluesy and bawdy "You Can Leave Your Hat On" was playing throughout the club space. Reveling in the moment, Clark amused the crowd by bolstering his nerve with a guzzle of his beer. Next, he shook out his fingers, stretched his arms, and rolled his shoulders before finally lowering himself to a knee in front of Lois. With Lois reclined back in her chair, humming along to the music in the air and conserving her energy for what she still had planned, Clark began his task by carefully removing her high heels. "Can't have any distractions," he deadpanned in explanation, drawing laughs from both Lois and the audience. Having set Lois's heels aside, he then gestured to her crossed legs. "With your permission, ma'am?" he asked her.

"Granted," answered Lois, enjoying his theatrical flair.

Upon nodding his thanks for her permission, Clark rested his hands on the backs of her calves, lifted one bent leg off of the other, and parted them just enough for him to fit between her knees. Rather than resting both of her bare feet on the floor, though, he did so with only the right. As for the left, he draped it and her leg over his shoulder, sending the crowd into hysterics. After he'd plucked away the bills girded around the bride's thigh, he turned to ask everyone except her whether he should proceed with his mouth or his hands. As expected, they picked the former.

Poking Clark in the chest, Lois demanded, "Hey, buddy, why don't I get a say?"

He smirked, whispering, "Because I already know you prefer both."

With the sound of Lois's giggle and the crowd's encouragement in his ears, Clark clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his head to Lois's thigh. Having clinched the lacy fabric of her garter between his teeth, he slowly dragged it up over her raised knee, along her calf, and, at long last, past her toes.

To the congratulatory applause of the audience, Clark sprang to his feet and shot two triumphant fists into the air. After he'd taken his victory lap, jogging along the front row to exchange high-fives with everyone he could reach, Lois took her garter from him and wrapped it around the stack of ones, fives, tens, and twenties that he'd collected from her and Dinah had collected from the stage. "I'll think of it as my bouquet," quipped Lois, giving the assemblage to Clark, "so long as you do the honors."

"Gladly."

While everyone in the crowd, whether single or spoken for, pressed together and jockeyed for position, Dinah pitched Lois's personal mobile to her and Lois continued the recording she'd begun for her. With Lois's phone capturing everything, Clark waved about the coveted prize, whipping up the crowd still more, and then turned his back to them. Following a count of three, the groom tossed the bride's garter and "bouquet" over his head and into the air. The victorious recipient was the couple's coworker, Colin. He'd had to out-time and out-leap everyone else, and the moment he returned to the floor, he exclaimed something about scoring big points with his boyfriend and he held up a fist for someone to bump. "Ring that bell! Somebody, ring that bell!"

Kara was the first of many to do exactly that. Elated, she then spun around to Jimmy in order for him to verify that she'd correctly understood and responded to the gesture. Jimmy laughed and nodded.

Subsequently, the partiers directed their attentions back to the stage and rooted Clark for his comical routine. He bowed in acknowledgement and then turned to Lois, looking into her phone's camera as he thanked her for indulging him. Lois smiled, told him he was welcome, and ended the recording. Having taken her hand, Clark then remarked to her that her acrobatics must have left her thirsty and he accordingly began leading her off the stage to go get her a bottle of water.

"Oh, not so fast, Smallville," chuckled Lois, tugging him back and shoving him down onto the chair behind them. "This is your bachelor party. You're due one other dance..."

* * *

**[Progress Update:** (March 3, 2013) *Sigh* Well, PART TWO, CHAPTER NINETEEN is officially kicking my ass, which means I won't be able to update today. I'm hugely sorry for the further delay. I'll check back in later in the week. Hopefully, I'll have better news by then. To all those bearing with me, thank you so much for your patience. Cross my heart, I'm getting right to writing as soon as I'm done posting this message. Cheers!**]**


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